


Thin Margin

by cretkid



Category: The West Wing
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e10 Noël, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-21
Updated: 2001-04-21
Packaged: 2019-05-15 16:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14794052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cretkid/pseuds/cretkid
Summary: Oil tankers are not getting where they are supposed to and the Administration is under the gun to come up with a solution.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> A copy of this work was once archived at National Library, a part of the [ West Wing Fanfiction Central](https://fanlore.org/wiki/West_Wing_Fanfiction_Central), a West Wing fanfiction archive. More information about the Open Doors approved archive move can be found in the [announcement post](http://archiveofourown.org/admin_posts/8325).

 

"Thin Margin" A The West Wing Story by CretKid (aka Calvin, with some help from Hobbes)

Disclaimer: I am in no way responsible for the characters on The West Wing. I'm the occasional babysitter that the parents call in when they desperately need to get away, and the kids love me, since I let them get away with just about anything. Just kidding. Copyright infringement not intended, and this is for the enjoyment of myself and my friends. You could try and sue me, but then you'd discover that I make zip, zero, nada. Really, I have no money.

Archive: Certainly. Just keep my name attached, and I suppose I'd like to know where it's going.

Rating: PG-13. Language mostly. Nothing you wouldn't see on the television show. Well, that may be a lie; we'll see.

Summary: Oil tankers are not getting where they are supposed to, and the Administration is under the gun (pardon the pun) to come up with a solution.

Spoilers: "Noel", "The Portland Trip"

Thanks to: Adrienne, Kat, Leanne, Sheila, Luna and Jess, Susannah, Janie, Lida Rose, Gaggit and Hobbes, and a week spent in bed due to an acute allergy attack of some sort...I think I'm allergic to work. J I borrowed Luna and Jess' Lou Woliver very very very very briefly. They said I could.

Nerd Alert: Like "When A Bell Tolls", this story has a bit of geology in it. Congress last year passed the Methane Hydrate Research and Development Act of 2000, which in essence allows for the research and development of alternate fuel sources, namely methane gas hydrates. For this story, I am assuming that this act has not yet passed.

Like this? Want to read more like it? Check out my other stories on my AOL home page: http://members.aol.com/cretkid/

"Thin Margin"

Tuesday Hannigan's Bar and Grill

"I'm just saying, it's going to come up again, that's all. Five tankers in six months, hijacked, grounded by mysterious means, or undersold to the black market? Two separate incidents of oil tankers firing on US Naval ships for no apparent reason, other than the fact they may have been carrying contraband oil. It's a trump card that is going to be played, and we're going to get screwed in the end."

Josh Lyman leaned back in his chair, rubbing his hands over his face in mock frustration as he contemplated punching the young man sitting next to him. "Why are we discussing this now? Didn't we table this back in December? And I thought this was supposed to be a no-shop-talk night. Who broke the rules?" he whined through the palm of his hands.

Two tables had been pushed together to accommodate the lot. It wasn't often that the staff of the most powerful man in the United States left the confines of their offices together. However, the last two weeks had been particularly harrowing, and after much cajoling, even Toby Zeigler was convinced to join them. His one concession was that he be allowed to smoke his cigar; therefore he had been relegated to the far end of one table. Josh along with Sam Seaborn, CJ Cregg, Donna Moss and Ainsley Hayes were clustered around the other. No one else had chosen to partake in the adventure, either out of general foreknowledge or genuine fear of how things might go when the Senior Staff were let out of their natural habitats unsupervised.

A near empty pitcher sat precariously near the join of the tables. Scattered about were half-eaten plates of club sandwiches, burgers, fries and salads. The unfortunate waitress who had their table had learned early in the evening it was best to leave well enough alone. This was after reassurances from the bartender acquainted with their antics that they would leave a very generous tip no matter how many times she offered to take their plates or bring a refill on the pitcher.

CJ speared a cherry tomato with her fork before either Josh or Ainsley could sneak it off her plate. She waved the fork in Josh's general direction. "You did, mi amigo, when you started screaming at that television over there about the OPEC thing that's been running on every news network for the last three days." She plucked the tomato off her fork.

"And why are we here instead of coming up with some counter-insurgency plan?" Josh asked.

"Because," CJ replied around the tomato, "Leo told us, in no uncertain terms, to get the hell out of the White House before we drove him crazy with all of our sniping."

"Yeah, so we get to snipe at each other here instead," Toby added, sipping his scotch "It's all your fault. You got him started," Toby indicated his deputy seated at the other end of the table, "and it went downhill from there. Princeton over there can't leave work at work. You've got no one to blame but yourself."

"So our WORK-is-a-four-letter-word plan has been shot to hell? Why didn't somebody stop me?" Josh turned to his assistant seated next to him.

"Don't look at me. I was in the ladies room when you started your temper tantrum. I can't watch you 24 hours a day," Donna replied. She gave up trying to protect her fries from Josh's pilfering fingers and pushed her plate in front of him.

"Not for lack of trying," Josh said. Donna punched him in the arm.

Bristling, Sam leaned forward against the table. "I think I resent the implication that I can't separate work from leisure."

"There was no implication," Toby responded. "I outright stated it." 

"Toby, isn't that the same suit you wore yesterday?"

"Yes, Ainsley, it is."

CJ leaned closer to the Republican seated next to her. "That only works on these two nincompoops. Toby is proud of his all-nighters. It gives him an excuse for his all-around surly attitude. You'll catch on eventually."

Unhindered, Ainsley pushed on. "But doesn't that imply you don't separate work from leisure?"

"No, it means Toby doesn't believe in leisure time," Sam provided.

Ainsley turned towards Sam. "So then why is he here?"

"Because if Toby pretends to play nice with others, he doesn't have to be told to," CJ answered.

"Anyone ever notice that we can have conversations with Toby without him ever having to utter a single word?" Josh held his head up with his arm propped on the table.

Toby snapped his fingers. "Damn, you've figured out my secret. And here I was hoping I could sneak out and no one would be the wiser."

"And I noticed," CJ said, grabbing the empty pitcher, "that we need a refill." She clanked the pitcher down in front of Josh. "Your turn."

Josh pushed the pitcher towards Ainsley. "I think this is a job for the new kid on the block."

Ainsley pushed it back. "Nah-uh. I fell for that the first time you guys took me out to this place. And I was stuck with the tab."

CJ stared aghast at Sam and Josh. "You left her with the tab? I'm never leaving you two alone again."

"Why do I have to get it? I'm not even drinking." Josh shot a dirty look at Donna.

Donna stacked the emptied plates on an open spot on the tables. "You have a delicate system. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"So speaks the Bar and Grill Gestapo. Why aren't you cutting off Sam or CJ? They polished off the last pitcher all by themselves."

"A, they don't have delicate systems like you, and even if they did, B, I don't work for them. C, the two of them are a little more than tipsy right now and would spill more bringing the pitcher back to the table. And D, it would serve Carol and Cathy right for not coming out with us. They get to deal with their hangovers."

"Hey!" CJ and Sam said indignantly.

"Just get the beer, Josh, and I'll let you have a glass. Just one."

"Oh, that's incentive."

Sam grabbed Josh's arm before he could leave the table. "Can we get back to the tanker thing for a minute."

Toby stood up. "I told you this would happen." He headed for the bar.

Josh held up the pitcher. "Toby--" Toby ignored him and Josh growled.

"Tankers?" Sam said again.

Slouching in his chair, Josh rolled his head in Sam's direction. "What about them?"

"They're going to come up."

"Yeah."

"OPEC isn't going to budge on this. The price of a single barrel of oil is going to sky rocket again, and there is no way Didion is going to stand for hitting the strategic petroleum reserves a second time in less than six months. Hart and Grenier are going to propose the Alaskan park thing again. Zaharian will start screaming about the dangers of drilling on the North Slope. We'll need a response."

"And when that happens Greenpeace's latest bulldog is going to jump at the chance to make a big stink about anything we say."

"Harold Chase is a cowardly, manipulative, lying, immature, psychotic, inadequately medicated sociopath."

"Tell us how you feelly real, Sam," CJ said. Sam sputtered, Josh snorted. CJ let her head fall to the table.

"I'm cutting you both off," Donna said in no uncertain terms.

"We're not drunk!" Sam and CJ protested.

Toby placed a pitcher of water on the table between Sam and CJ "The jury's still out on you, CJ, but Sam is drunk. If he weren't, he'd know that you can medicate a psychopath but not a sociopath." Toby replaced Sam's beer with a glass of water. "I can't believe I'm playing den mother to this scout troop expedition gone horribly awry."

"Isn't Chase that guy that dumped body bags filled with styrofoam and lots of netting into Puget Sound to stop illegal trapping a couple of years ago?" Ainsley asked.

Toby returned to his chair with a refreshed scotch in hand. "Among other things, as environmentally unsound as that is. He once staged a one-man protest outside Gage Whitney Pace because that firm was brokering the buy out of several, shall we say less than sturdy tankers to an up and coming oil company. He got a lot of news coverage for about 2 days. His fifteen minutes of fame ended around the same time he literally lost his voice."

"To make matters worse, we were also arranging the insurance policies on the same tankers. That's about the same time I left to join the campaign."

"You mean, the guy that was screaming in the rain at the top of his lungs when I went to see you after Nashua was Harold Chase?!?" Josh exclaimed. "Whoa! I thought he was some random evangelistic drunk screaming about the end of the world. That guy IS a sociopath."

CJ picked up the pitcher again and rattled it in front of Josh. "Beer."

"Speaking of sociopaths, you guys are going to be a joy at staff tomorrow." Josh stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.

"Staff is postponed until 9," Donna called after him. "Leo and the President are meeting with the Joint Chiefs and the National Security Advisor at 8 am."

"And you were going to tell me this when?"

"Well, I was going to wait until five minutes before staff tomorrow, but since the subject came up--"

"No more shop talk!" CJ whined. "You're giving me a headache!"

"You're not concerned about any of this?" Sam asked.

"Look, there's nothing we can do about it right now. We've spent the last two weeks pushing our education legislation through the gauntlet. We're tired, we're cranky, and tomorrow we're going to step up to the plate again to face a possible energy crisis. Yes, the OPEC statement is news. They make a statement whenever someone gets their knickers in a knot about oil prices. They are not about to step down now, and that's not news. So, I'm going to relax, I'm not going to be concerned about anything more than how the hell I'm going to get home this evening and how I'm going to get to work tomorrow since my car is still at the White House." CJ grabbed Sam's tie and drew him closer. She planted her forehead against his and spoke with a definite growl behind her voice. "If I have to think about anything else, my head will explode and it will not be a pretty picture. And I'm taking you down with me if that happens."

Sounding slightly choked, Sam stammered, "Can I have my tie back?"

"Are you going to stop talking tankers?"

"Yes."

CJ released Sam's tie.

"Can I say something about the Alaska thing?"

CJ groaned, picked up the last of the cherry tomatoes on her plate. Ainsley intercepted CJ's arm before she could let fly and deposited the slightly squashed fruit back on the plate just as Donna pulled it and every other piece of ammunition within CJ's reach out of the way.

"Sam," Toby started, "so help me God, if you don't shut up, I will help CJ eviscerate you with a soup spoon. I will not have you be the root cause for why we are not allowed back in this establishment. CJ, you will not start another food fight."

"What did Sam do now?" Josh asked as he returned. CJ was scowling at Ainsley, who was helping Donna with the rest of the plates and motioning for the waitress. "Why does CJ look like she's going to disembowel Ainsley?"

"CJ, have another beer, it's going to be your last," Toby announced. CJ's scowl leveled on Toby. "And your evil-eye routine will not work on me, so cut it out."

"Uh-oh, watch out guys, Dad is putting his foot down." Josh handed the pitcher to Sam and started to sit down. Only, he missed his chair by a good foot to the left.

Sam stared, stupefied.

CJ tried not to laugh through her nose and failed.

Ainsley leaned over the table to see what the fuss was about.

Toby inclined his head back and sighed.

Donna just shook her head. "It's starting already. I told you this would happen."

Josh decided that he was better suited to stay on the floor with his arms crossed and resting on his kneecaps. "I'm not having this conversation with you."

"What's started already?" Ainsley asked.

"Donna," implored Josh, "don't."

Donna waved her hand at the man on the floor, dismissing him. "Josh ran over an old lady today."

"He did what?" Sam exclaimed.

Josh was staring daggers at his soon to be ex-assistant.

"He and I were walking back from that hot dog vendor on the Mall that he likes, and Josh being Josh ran over some bag lady because he was too busy arm waving and walking backwards and spouting off about this that and every other thing to see her. She put a hex on him."

"It was not a hex," Josh explained. "It was a threat. And I would have been in my right mind to have her arrested for threatening a senior aide to the President."

"You can't do that. One can be arrested for threatening the President. You are a pee-on. One cannot be arrested for threatening a pee-on," CJ said.

"Well, from one pee-on to a fellow pee-on--" Josh blew a raspberry at her for a good three seconds.

"Very adult of you, Josh. Do I need to put you in a time-out? And get off the floor." Toby put out his cigar and finished the rest of his scotch.

Donna continued with her narrative. "She said bad luck will follow him until he was truly mindful of his acts."

"I apologized! I did!"

"But was it sincere?" Donna added. "I don't think so. Face it, it's started."

Josh used the table to pull himself to his feet. "I am so not looking forward to the next few days."

END PROLOGUE ====================


	2. Thin Margin 1

 

"Thin Margin" 1/8

Disclaimer: Not mine, and I'm not in it for the money. If we didn't care about the characters so much, we wouldn't be doing this in the first place. Beat that with a stick.

Stuff like this can be found at http://members.aol.com/cretkid/

 

 

 

Wednesday morning

Jed Bartlet leaned back in the wing backed chair, glasses in one hand and a fan of black and white photographs in the other. He didn't really want to deal with this so soon after the incidents in the Mississippi Valley, but it was times like these when he could not stomach the puerile, childish behavior of certain legislators in world economics and politics.

"Just tell me we have enough oil, natural gas and whatever else we might need to make it through the rest of the cold season," Leo asked the rest in attendance.

The Chairman and Vice Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, Naval Admiral Percy Fitzwallace and Air Force General Jack Kellerman, as well as the National Security Advisor, Nancy McNally, and the Secretary of Defense Bill Hutchison sat forward on the couches in the Oval Office. They had seen the same pictures that the President held in his hand. The photos represented a stumbling block, but only a small one in the larger scheme of things. It was all a matter of how much spin was needed to reassure the American people that things were not as bleak as they appeared.

"Of course we do. It just might cost the consumer a little bit more to get it," Hutchison provided. "California's problems have nothing to do with supply. No one is going to go without gas, electricity, or heating oil."

"Twenty-five percent of OPEC oil goes to the United States. Five of the 11 member nations of OPEC want to draw back production by one million barrels per day. That's less than 2% of their current daily output," McNally said. "OPEC countries are responsible for only 40% of the world's output. In the greater scheme of things, this is all a matter of economics, not production costs or limitations."

"The price of oil, right now, is down nearly $13 a barrel from the all-time high last September. OPEC is targeting $25-30 per barrel; we'd like that to be towards the lower end, obviously lower than that, but as Nancy said, we're one of the largest consumers of OPEC oil. OPEC's afraid of another Jakarta mishap, when they gave the go-ahead of increased production and the price of oil plummeted to just over $12 a barrel, partly due to the crash in the Asian market three years ago. Now, to me, that sounds just great; $12 a barrel and no waiting. However, you will not only have OPEC screaming, but every major oil company in the United States crying foul. They are protecting their interests." Hutchison shifted in his seat to face the President. "You of all people must understand that."

Bartlet dropped the photographs onto the small table next to him. He fanned through them to find one particular image. "What I don't understand is how we can allow things like this--" Bartlet tossed the photo to the table between the couches so that everyone could see it clearly, "to happen. How Saudia Arabia, Kuwait, United Arab Emirates, Venezuala and a whole host of other OPEC member nations can condone such action by doing nothing to prevent it. How many people did we lose?"

Kellerman lifted his gaze from its spot on the carpet. "Fifteen in the initial blast. Six more due to medical complications."

"We have the frigate now?" Bartlet asked.

"I've asked that additional ships from the Seventh Fleet be diverted to escort the frigate to a friendly port," Fitzwallace reported. "Mr. President, there's no way we could have foreseen this. We were prepared. It was a lucky shot."

The President's face adopted an expression that belied what he truly felt about that. "Oh yeah, I'll believe that an oil tanker needs a 50mm cannon and depth charges for protection any day this side of Thursday." He pointed at the photograph on the table, jabbing his finger on the gapping hole on the upper port side. His expression turned hard. "You cannot tell me that was anything but a premeditated and pre-emptive strike against us."

"Mr. President, we made it abundantly clear that the United States would no longer tolerate the export of black market oil or the hindrance to on-board inspections of those ships we believe to be carrying such contraband after the last incident. Some are likely to take that personally."

"Well, I take it personally, Nancy! We've got an oil cartel more interested in money than in the humanitarian gesture of providing low-cost heating to half a hemisphere stuck in the tailspin of one of the coldest winters in recorded history. We've got enterprising rogue ships taking on US Navy frigates just so they can sell whatever oil they might be carrying to those that are desperate enough to believe that $35, $40 a barrel is reasonable. And on top of this, we have to fight the panic that is rising in our own country that we're going to have another summer of prices at the pump soaring over $2 a gallon. And we really can't do anything about in the short term because there is no way in hell we can cut US dependence on foreign oil enough to scare OPEC into some sense. Do I have it all, am I missing anything?"

"No, Mr. President, I think you've got it," Leo said.

"Great. What's next?"

"We seized the tanker. That's got to be a feather in our cap," Kellerman said.

"But at what cost?" Bartlet asked. "We have to play nice with the Middle East by cow-towing to a different sort of terrorism that does not involve guns and munitions, but the price of heating oil on the open market. You and my science advisors tell me that there is nothing to worry about, even when I see the world's supposed energy crisis bulleted on every news show. This administration is getting flack for the release of increased federal funds for low-income energy assistance, considering that most of that money is going to the American mid-west and Mississippi Valley. We have the Republican senators from Alaska wanting to tap the wildlife reserve. We have Greenpeace filing lawsuits every other week to stop drilling on the Alaskan North Shore. We have the environmental lobby screaming at anyone who even suggests building more coal plants, even though I'm told we have coal reserves that should last us for the next 200 years."

"It's not a no-win situation, Mr. President," McNally stated, "but it is as damn close to one that I want to be. We are in no immediate danger."

"That makes me feel so much better." Bartlet's tone was sarcastic. "You know, I'm all for saving the environment, but after living through this past winter, I really have to wonder if everyone hasn't been exaggerating this greenhouse effect I've been hearing so much about. Isn't it supposed to make the planet warmer? You wouldn't know it to look outside and see 12 inches of snow on the ground."

Leo nodded his head, and everyone in the room understood that the meeting was over. "Thank you, Mr. President." Everyone stood and thanked the President and filed out of the room. Leo grabbed Fitzwallace's arm before he made the door. "Hang on a second, Fitz."

Mrs. Landingham slipped through the threshold as the others left. She swept past Leo and Fitzwallace, planted a number of folders on the President's desk and quickly buzzed by the President's chair with an abbreviated schedule written on a single sheet of paper. "You have a meeting with McDougal and Myers at 9, a phone conference call with the Indonesian Ambassador at 10, and Toby Zeigler would like to have 5 minutes of your time to discuss this Saturday's radio address. Here's your agenda. Your lunch will be ready at 12:30."

"Where's Charlie?"

"He left you a message. Apparently Josh Lyman had a problem this morning; something about getting his head examined, and he couldn't drive a car. You have a light morning; I told him you could manage by yourself." She buzzed right back out the door and closed it behind her without losing a step.

Bartlet looked at Leo; Leo shrugged his shoulders. "Don't look at me, I have no idea what's going on."

"That's all right, I'll just get it out of Charlie when he gets back. Fitz, what's your take on this tanker business?"

The Admiral crossed his arms over his chest. "I think someone is trying to flex his muscles. We're not headed into an energy crisis, yet. We could consider the firing on that frigate as an act of war, but against whom would we declare it? This is what I hate about that doom and gloom futuristic popular movie tripe; everyone assumes we're headed to hell in a handbasket."

"We're not?" Leo added incredulously.

"We're keeping on eye on things in the Middle East. With all the problems in Israel right now, no one really gives a damn about Iraq and Kuwait. We've stepped up patrols within the Indian Ocean and Arabian Gulf. Satellites show no new movements since the frigate was fired upon. We really don't have anything to worry about at this time."

"Thanks, Fitz. That's all."

"Thank you, Mr. President. Leo." Fitzwallace nodded at both men and left the room.

Bartlet stood up to fetch his jacket from where it rested on his desk chair. "I really don't have the presence of mind to deal with fanatics right now. I took a sneak peek at Mrs. Landingham's desk calendar this morning. Every energy, environmental, oil and gas lobby wants five minutes of my time this week after OPEC announced another decrease in oil production. After Hart and Grenier decided to do their song and dance act on C-SPAN, those requests quadrupled, with ecologists thrown into the bunch. This blows, Leo. It really does. We're trying to dig out of a devastating natural disaster in the Mississippi Valley, and I'm taking flack for either helping too much or not enough. We're trying to put through this education bill without a million and one riders that cause more harm than good. And now I have to deal with a pissing contest between the oil companies, the environmentalists and everyone else that wants to have a warm house for the remainder of this winter. It's the middle of the week and already I want it to be Friday."

"You and me both. Are you going to Camp David this weekend?"

"We're going to try."

"We'll staff out the meetings. Sam's been keeping up to date on this stuff. We'll put him in charge. Toby can work on foreign policy relations with OPEC, and we'll get Josh to rattle some cages on the Hill. Maybe we can deflect interest away from this for a while until we can come up with a cohesive package."

"Whatever it takes, Leo. Speaking of cages, I heard you let them out last night. Since I haven't read or seen anything in the news, I assume no one did anything incredibly stupid."

"That remains to be seen. I haven't seen any of them yet this morning."

"Any idea what McDougal and Myers want?"

"Nope."

"That makes two of us."

"It amazes me that they gave you a Ph. D."

"Boggles the mind, don't it."

Josh skirted through the West Wing entrance, having had Charlie drop him off so that he wouldn't miss the staff meeting. With his backpack slung over one shoulder, he hurried through the halls, a half smile plastered to his face and a quick wave to anyone that he ran into. He was only thankful that the sun had continued to shine through the morning and he might just yet pull off his little charade.

He passed by Carol in the hall. She must have had a harried morning already, judging by the number of pencils she had stashed behind her ear and in her hair. That could mean one of two things: something major was on the horizon and the West Wing day was about to be shot to hell, or CJ was having a bad day and therefore Carol was having a bad day. Considering how much CJ had had to drink the night before, the latter was a very real possibility. He tried to say hi; she growled at him.

No Donna in the bullpen. He wasn't sure what he should think about that. On the one hand, it would mean he might just possibly make it to staff without a problem or an explanation, and he really did not want to explain the reason why he was late. At least not just yet, not until he could find a better way to spin it. On the other hand-- well, he really didn't want to dwell on the other hand. His mind was preoccupied with too many tasks as it was.

The key to his plan was to keep his coat on. He would take a quick look at his calendar and pray for a meeting on the Hill. If he didn't have one, he would make one up for right after staff. If he had his coat on, no one would question the glasses; and if no one questioned the glasses, then he just might get away with it.

"Get away with what?" a voice said suddenly behind him.

"Gnhack!" Josh nearly jumped out of his skin. "Don't DO that."

"You didn't answer my question," CJ said, following him into his office.

"Someone should surgically attach a deer whistle to your forehead."

"Clever, Leo hasn't come up with that one yet. Get away with what?"

"Shouldn't you be hung over?" Josh dumped his backpack in his chair and pretended to sift through the debris on his desk. He knew the key to getting past Eagle-Eye CJ was misdirection. Answer questions with more questions until someone tired of the game.

"Water and multivitamins. Shouldn't you have been here two hours ago?"

Unfortunately, CJ was a master at this game as well.

"Who are you, my mother?"

"No, but I play one on TV. Get away with what?"

She was starting to stare at him funny. If he didn't get her out of his office, and soon, everything was going to be blown all to hell. Her hand darted towards his sunglasses.

"Get away from me," Josh barked, ducking out of the way.

"Staff in two minutes." CJ tilted her head. "Nice shiner. You should get Donna to touch that up for you," she called over her shoulder as she left his office. 

"I don't know what you're talking about!" he yelled in reply.

"Ninety seconds, Josh!"

Josh looked for the nearest reflective surface, which happened to be his laptop screen. He pulled his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose and stared at the latest acquisition just above his left eye. "No way she saw that." Pushing his glasses back up his nose, he flew out of his office.

When he arrived at Leo's door, Josh found Toby standing in his usual corner. Sam had commandeered the entire couch with his stack of papers and folders. CJ was leaning against the desk. Leo breezed in from the adjoining door to the President's office. He looked up to see who was assembled before shooing CJ away from his desk. Josh still lingered in the door.

"Take off your coat and stay a while."

Josh stepped in to the room, pointing out the door. "I have a thing. On the Hill. After this."

"No you don't," CJ said, smiling sweetly from her newly found seat.

"Yes, I do," Josh insisted.

"No, you really don't."

"Focus, children." Leo slipped his reading glasses off and leaned back in his chair. "Josh, we're going to be here a while. Take off the coat and sunglasses. You're not fooling anyone. And before you ask, I saw Charlie in the hallway."

Reluctantly, Josh pulled off his sunglasses and stuffed them in his coat pocket.

Toby took a step away from the wall in a gesture that seemed like he was trying to get a closer look. "There seems to be three-- no, make that four-- stitches above your left eye. I know you didn't leave the bar that way, and though I doubt anyone would fault Donna for slugging you, she wasn't nursing any bruised knuckles this morning when I saw her."

Josh would have furrowed his brow, only it hurt too much to do that. He simply grimaced and slid out of his trench coat.

Sam looked up from his work and managed to keep from laughing out loud. "You didn't have any alcohol last night. What the hell happened?"

Josh sunk into another chair and leaned his head back. "I sort of... walked... into a kitchen cabinet this morning."

"Hex of the Evil Woman strikes again," CJ said cheerily.

"Can we save share time for later?" Leo asked. "CJ, what's the Press got to say about Hart and Grenier's show yesterday?"

"No one was lying in wait for me when I arrived this morning. Everyone in the gaggle knows that the President is against opening up the Arctic Wildlife Reserve to prospect drilling. Zaharian has been keeping a low profile so far. There's been nothing in the wires. Though, I did get a call about the national monument thing again."

"To which you answered--"

""Interior hasn't sent us a proposal, we're not in the process of considering such a move, and even if we were, with Congress pretty much dead even, it wouldn't get the votes anyway, despite the fact that Democrats and moderate Republicans don't want to see the area opened up to drilling in the first place." We've been pushing the education thing. The press is playing ball with us, not against us, at this point."

"Good, let's see if we can keep it that way. Meanwhile, we're going to dangle our feet a bit in the energy crisis." The proclamation rendered several groans from the staff, most audible from Josh.

"Do we have to?" Josh complained.

"Why not? We haven't pissed off the Environmentalists in nearly two months. Maybe we can kill two birds with one stone." Toby reached into his pocket for his notepad.

Leo ignored that remark. "Sam, you'll take lead on this. Go talk to your friend over at Energy. Josh, you're so gung-ho into physics now, I thought you might branch out into energy science for a while. Whatever you can get on the latest research and development from the DOE. Toby, look into current OPEC policies. How much of this drawback on production is truly policy and how much of it is a grudge against us. CJ--"

"I know, I know. Watch what the press is saying and not saying; see if they catch a whiff of what we're doing. Before I forget, we're not doing anything about the frigate, are we?"

"No. Anyone asking about it?"

"Not anymore."

"Let's keep it that way. Okay, people. Get out. Toby, a minute please. You wanted to see the President about the radio address?"

END Part 1


	3. Thin Margin 2

 

"Thin Margin" Part 2/8   
Disclaimer: They are not mine. I plan on making no money from this. If we didn't care about these characters so much, we wouldn't be doing this in the first place. Beat that with a stick. Comments can be sent And if you like this, you can find more like it at http://members.aol.com/cretkid/ Side note: Josh's cabinet thing actually happened to me. I have the scar to prove it.

Josh threw his trench coat in the general direction of the coat rack, missing the hook entirely. He didn't flinch as the wayward coat took out a stack of papers before landing in a heap. He dropped his backpack on the floor and took its place on the chair.

Still no Donna in the bullpen. So far this day was going swimmingly. He leaned back in the chair, propped his feet on the corner of his desk and stared at the ceiling.

"Dish, Josh."

"Don't you knock?"

CJ pushed his feet off the corner of the desk and claimed it for herself. "Nah, that would ruin the fun of ambushing you like this. And let me tell you, the silk they used to stitch you up matches your whole ensemble. Did you plan that?"

"You are exceedingly cheery for someone who had to be escorted to the car by no less than three people last night."

"What can I say? I'm a handful, but fun at parties. And we're not talking about me; I want the sordid little details."

"Can't you pick on someone else for a change?"

"Nope. You're it. Toby has his hands full talking with Leo about the President's radio address on Saturday. Sam is sitting under an avalanche of paper on that oil thing he was blathering on about last night. Donna's been holed up in the research library. And Carol is in a mood today, and I'm not touching that with a ten foot pole."

"Yeah, what is up with Carol? She growled at me this morning." Josh sat forward and tried to re-arrange the files on his desk. A typed itinerary of his day's schedule was half under CJ's leg. He shoved her off his desk to get at it. There was a post-it note with Donna's incomprehensible scrawl all over it on one of the manila folders under his itinerary.

CJ pulled the guest chair around to the side of the desk. "Me, too. But I attributed that to the fact she hadn't had her morning cup of coffee yet."

"She doesn't usually growl at people."

"And you usually do not walk into kitchen cabinets. I'm supposed to be the graceless one. What's the story?" CJ propped her feet up on the corner of Josh's desk before he could do the same.

"I thought we were talking about Carol?" He handed her the post-it note with one hand and swept her feet off his desk with the other. "What does this say?"

"'Latest R&D on hydrates'. Stop changing the subject. Tell me what really happened, or I will start dropping hints that Donna cold-cocked you. I am the founding member and manager of the rumor mill; there is not a single soul that won't believe me."

"I thought Margaret was the queen bee of the rumor mill."

"It's a puppet government. She's my front woman. Don't make me beat the answer out of you."

"That makes me feel better."

CJ stared him down.

"Are you really that hard up for a story that you're going to torture me like this?" Josh whined.

"Suppose someone at the hospital leaked the story that you were there this morning, and some nitwit in the gaggle called me on it. I should be prepared. And seeing that my briefing was pushed back to 9:30, you have approximately--" CJ looked at her watch, "--18 minutes to tell me before I take it upon myself to divulge your whereabouts this morning as I see fit."

"Is this a thing for you today? Calling people you work with names? 'Cause I think you may create an unfriendly work environment. And I refuse to represent you when someone hits you with a lawsuit."

"I wouldn't hire you anyway, Bruise Boy. And speaking of black eyes..."

"I don't necessarily want to be a part of the rumor mill either."

"Josh, you live for gossip. If you're not in the loop, you go into a depressive funk. Remember, you were the one to call me every single morning while you were in the hospital to hear the latest scoop from around the office; you couldn't wait until Donna brought you lunch. I swear sometimes you're worse than Sam."

"Speaking of the hospital, I find it disconcerting that the ER staff of GW knows me on sight. And watch, my insurance company will try to find a way to charge me fifty thousand dollars for 4 stitches even though I am now allowed to go to GW if I call my primary physician first and get a note from my mommy." He started to leaf through the manila folder Donna had set aside with the post-it note, hoping that CJ would take the hint that he was trying to work.

"Get Margaret to forge your mother's signature. I hear she's pretty good. And you're evading the question again." She sat forward, grabbed the folder from his hands and placed it on the corner of his desk.

Josh was not willing to admit defeat, but a temporary cessation of verbal tag-you're-it was in order if he was going to get anything accomplished on the list Donna had left on his desk. "If I tell you, will you leave me alone?"

"Maybe."

"That's all I get, a 'maybe'?"

"Spill."

"Don't you have work to do?" The stare again. He relented. "There really isn't much of a story. I walked into a kitchen cabinet."

"The cabinets in your kitchen are recessed. I've seen them. How could you possibly walk into one?"

"A cabinet door was kind of... ajar."

"Ajar?"

"Yes, ajar, open, as in not closed."

"I know what ajar means. Why was it ajar?"

"I left it that way."

"And why would you do that?"

"Habit, I suppose. See, when I was younger, I... have you ever met my mother?"

"No, I don't think I've had the pleasure."

"Well, you see, we did this thing. With the cabinet doors. My mother... to call her a Stepford Wife would be too kind, at least when it came to her kitchen. We used to leave all the cabinet doors open to see how long it would take to set off her radar."

"And you did this on a regular basis?"

"Yup."

"And your mother let you get away with it?"

"Well, no, but it was funny to watch her get all hot and bothered about it. You've never done anything just to annoy your mother?"

"Sure. My brothers and I made a regular habit of eating out of the salad bowl without utensils. One night she declared, 'Can you at least put a fork in your hand', so we did. And then we continued to pick at the salad with our other hands."

"I've met one of your brothers. This explains a lot. You all share a brain, don't you?"

"At least I have an excuse. You didn't see that the cabinet door was ajar as you were walking towards it?"

"I kinda had my eyes closed."

"Kinda?"

"I was sneezing at the time."

"And you walked into the cabinet door."

"Yup."

"That is the stupidest thing I've ever heard." CJ stood up and replaced the chair, apparently satisfied with his tale of embarrassment.

"Oh, I seem to recall that you pulled the phone into a sink full of water not so long ago. I only remember that because you were on the phone with me at the time."

"That was an accident."

"The phone was mounted to the wall."

CJ shrugged her shoulders. "Sometimes I don't know my own strength."

"Yeah, you and the Incredible Hulk. Are we done here? Have I satisfied your curiosity? Because I just got dumped with figuring out what the hell the DOE is doing in terms of research and development and I'm going to need a translator to understand half the gobbledegook in these memos."

"You mean Mr. Theory of Everything is balking at his science homework? Guess you'll never open your mouth again about whatever you're obsessing over on The Discovery Channel."

"It was PBS!" he yelled at her retreating back. He looked down in the post-it note and wondered how CJ could read the chicken scratch. "And what the hell is a hydrate?!"

Donna dropped the records she had trucked over from the library on her desk, and sat down with a sigh. For all the complaining she had done recently about the cold weather, she was very happy not to be in the library anymore. If Ainsley Hayes thought her office was exceedingly warm, that room had nothing on the library. At least the rest of the information she needed she could find on the internet or could be sent over by messenger.

When Josh had not shown up at his usual time, she had been a tad concerned. Then Mrs. Landingham had told her about the trip to the emergency room. It was only after a phone call to one of the registered nurses she had gotten to know during her frequent visits after Rosslyn did Donna breath a sigh of relief. It was nothing serious, just a minor kitchen accident. However, Donna was superstitious: maybe now Josh would take the old woman's hex seriously.

With a pile of briefing binders, memos and reports from previous administrations' energy policies sitting on her desk, Donna was ready to help Josh tackle the energy crisis. By propelling her chair backwards she should see into his office. He was holding his head with both hands, his hair poking out in ways that gave 'bad hair day' a whole new definition. Both elbows were planted on his desk, all of his concentration on the papers she had pulled off the internet on energy resources. He probably would not appreciate her bouncing into his office to bother him about his stitches. Besides, she'd heard that CJ had already given him the business for his stupidity this morning. No point in pouring more salt in the wound. She'd save that fun for later this afternoon.

For all the prep work she had already done, Donna was not ready to sit down and leaf through pages and pages of policy papers. She spied Carol and CJ returning from the press briefing through the myriad of windows in the bull pen. CJ seemed to be in good spirits, so the briefing must have gone well. It was not an unusual occurrence to find CJ demanding the head of some reporter be brought to her on a silver platter, with Carol promising to do just that. Only Carol seemed out of sorts this morning. She had been out of sorts for a couple of mornings now. And Donna had decided enough was enough.

Donna left her desk and plotted an intercept course for the Press Pair. Carol was walking slightly behind CJ. Most people did out of necessity since CJ often walked faster than a hummingbird flapped its wings. CJ was talking a mile a minute as Carol wrote down everything on her notepad. She buzzed by the pair and hooked her arm through Carol's, dragging her down the hall.

Looking over her shoulder, Donna called, "Hey, CJ. Mind if I steal Carol for a moment? Thanks. Want anything from the mess?"

CJ turned around in circles as she watched her assistant be kidnapped. "Uh, diet coke, and when am I getting Carol back?"

"We'll be back in a few," Donna replied as she turned Carol around so that she wouldn't have to walk down the stairs backwards.

"Please don't give her caffeine," Carol begged. "She's wired enough as is. She's the only person I know that's hyper when she should be hung over and acts hung over when she's sleep deprived."

"Nah, we'll get someone to slip some benadryl in her lunch." The mess was uncharacteristically empty. They moved quickly through the cafeteria line, Donna grabbing coffee and Carol content with hot water and a tea bag.

Carol handed her a 22-oz fountain cup. Donna filled it three-quarters with caffeine-free cola and the rest with tonic water. Carol looked on dubiously until Donna noticed the furrowed brows. "Trust me. I do this to Josh all the time. He can't tell the difference. And if she asks, the mix was wrong."

"I will have to remember that."

They found a table near the far side of the room. Carol sat sideways in the chair, back to the wall and one leg drawn up on the chair. Donna faced her, absently stirring her coffee with a plastic straw, smiling and waiting. When Carol seemed fit to sit and stare at her tea, Donna took the initiative.

"You look like something one of my cats coughed up."

"That's blunt."

"Yeah, well, subtlety was never my strong suit, and I told CJ we'd be back upstairs in a few minutes. So that doesn't give us much time. Are you going to tell me what's stressing you out, or will I have to assume this new medusa hairstyle is the up and coming thing?" she asked as she started pulling pencils out of Carol's hair.

"Cut that out. And that one is holding my hair up," Carol replied, slapping Donna's hand away before she could take out the fifth and final pencil.

"I hope you weren't on the air like this."

"I was off to the side."

"Well, that's good. So, are you going to tell me what's up?"

Carol sighed and thumped her head against the wall. "You won't leave me alone until I do."

"Nope. Subtle, I'm not. Persistent, I am."

"Water heater," said Carol with a resigned sigh.

"What about it?"

"I don't have one."

"For how long?"

"Five days."

Donna's eyebrows shot up to her hairline. "Five days! You've been without hot water for five days? The temperature hasn't left the twenties all week."

"Tell me about it," Carol groused.

"You haven't told your super?"

"Of course I have. I think the whole building knew it broke after the scream I let out when I stepped into a an ice cold shower the other morning."

"Well, why hasn't he done anything about it?"

"Mr. Zarnowski has to be a million years old. He's hard of hearing, can't see a thing..."

"But, five days!"

"I know. My super's great with little stuff: a stuck toilet, busted windows, bad wiring. But he gets his nephew to do the big things. His nephew is, shall we say, a devious character. It took me three weeks to get my radiator fixed last winter."

"That's just criminal. Can't you ask Mr. Zowkowski to call in someone else?"

"Mr. Zar-now-ski is a sweet old man. If he sees me drive in from his window, he always walks out to the parking lot to walk me to the door, cane and all. Doesn't matter what time I come home. I hate to bother him."

"Yeah, but you can't live this way. You know what your problem is? You're too nice. You have to stand up to him. You have to pretend that he is the Devil Incarnate and demand that the water heater be replaced or fixed or whatever needs to be done as soon as possible."

"I hate to do that to him."

"Then I'll do it. We'll go at lunch. And if all else fails, we'll call in one of our bosses."

For the first time in their conversation, Carol showed more than resigned indifference. "No. Absolutely not. No way."

"Why not? We work for the White House. Use it to your advantage."

"No. No one in my building knows I work at the White House."

"What, they don't see you on television during press briefings?"

"Are you kidding? Half the building watches the game show network, the other half Nickelodeon."

"Half the people we work for are lawyers."

"It's a stupid water heater. My neighbor has been kind enough to let me use her shower in the morning. It will eventually get fixed. There's no need for litigation."

"Exactly. We threaten it, and things get done."

"You're incorrigible."

"Yup. Whatdya say?"

Carol was thumping the back of her head against the wall again. "I knew I shouldn't have told you. You're going to play the heavy?"

"Sure. Good cop, bad cop, I could do that."

"How about bad cop, no cop?"

"Nope. I need a straight man." Carol almost spit out her tea. Donna paused, replayed the conversation in her head, then added, "Get your mind out of the gutter."

"When I lose my lease, you'll put me up?"

"It won't come to that."

"And if it does? You'd leave my cat homeless?"

"Your cat would not like my cats. Well, technically, they're my roommate's cats, but as she is out of town for the month, they are my cats by proxy. These cats are demon spawn."

"Donna, you're not making me feel any better."

"You've got nothing to worry about. Trust me." Donna stood up. She grabbed Carol across the wrist and forearm and pulled her to her feet. "Let's go before CJ sends out the troops to find us. And don't forget your pencils."


	4. Thin Margin 3

 

"Thin Margin" Part 3/8  
Disclaimer in part 1

Sam looked up from the pile of folders, books, pads and memos on his desk when he heard the rap on his open office door. Cathy slipped her head and shoulders through the threshold and announced, "Jessica Witt from the DOE is here to see you."

"Show her in."

Until he stood up, Sam did not realize that the flotsam of folders extended to his lap. They seemed to scatter in every conceivable direction. Cathy shook her head as she left the doorway. Sam knew any effort to kick the files under his desk would be a lost cause, but he had to try anyway.

He looked up at the sound of a cleared throat. Jessica Witt was watching him with a bemused expression. She held the cuff of her conservative gray suit jacket in such a way to hide the grin that had fought its way to her face. She still wore much the same hair style, just above the shoulder with bangs brushed behind the ears. In her other hand she held the same battered and beaten briefcase.

"Jessie, would you care to sit down?"

"You haven't changed." Jessie crossed to the chair, placed her briefcase beside it and slowly sat down so that she didn't lose eye contact with him.

Leaning against his desk, Sam folded his arms over his chest and queried, "In what way?" He had been thinking the same thing about her.

"How long have you been doing this... 'ain't-I-cute-and-adorable' routine? I'm betting you practiced it on your mother, because you had it down pretty good when you hit Duke."

"Well, I had to have a gimmick, you know, to get dates."

"It didn't work on me."

"No, as I recall, you were dating that eco-terrorist in our Environmental Law class."

Jessie sat up a little straighter in righteous indignation. "Todd was not an eco-terrorist. He was driven."

"Yeah, maybe driven to insanity. Where is he now?"

"Happy at home with our two kids."

Sam stood up, his mouth agape. "You married him? You allowed him to create children in his own image?"

"I don't know if I should be offended by that. He makes a very nice househusband."

"Well, then, you haven't changed much either. You still pick up after lost causes."

"And you're still a klutz in a good suit. Trip over anyone lately?"

Sam sneered, mouth a thin line as he tried to think of a witty response. "Well... you... "

"Nice come back. Now, I would love to continue this banter with you, but I do have a job to get back to sometime in the near future." She crossed her legs at the ankle and leaned against the arm of the chair to get comfortable.

Sam hitched his hip on the corner of his desk, all kidding aside. "How are you doing, really? We didn't get a chance to catch up last December when I called you."

"I'm doing good. Kids are fine. Todd is happy writing his newsletters and whatnot. But that doesn't answer my original question. To what do I owe this unexpected invitation to the White House?"

"Natural gas prices."

"Ah, I should have guessed. They're on the rise, you know."

"No kidding."

"Americans are spending nearly $300 million more this year than last."

"That's unacceptable."

"That's economics."

"You guys are forecasting a 40% rise in natural gas prices."

"And a 29% rise in the price of heating oil. What's your point?"

Sam thought his point was more than abundantly clear, but obviously Jessie needed clarification. Either that or she still enjoyed jerking his chain about every possible subject under the sun. "There's got to be something we can do about this."

"It's not like we're going to run out of gas. The rise in prices doesn't reflect that we have no reserves, just that there's less to go around with increased need."

"And why is that? I took a look at your department's web site this morning. The United States has something on the order of 165 trillion cubic feet of natural gas reserves. We only use 8 trillion cubic feet a year. We only have 1.9 trillion cubic feet in storage. It's the cheapest fuel around, we've got all these reserves, yet the prices continue to rise."

"In the past five years, how many green Christmases have you experienced?

"Well, you know, I'm from California, so I always have a green Christmas."

She stared at him in much the same way his mother did when his theatrics went a bit over the top. Sam felt sorry for her two children.

"It's a hypothetical question, Sam. With the exception of this year, the past few winters have been above average in temperature. With the decreased demand by homeowners for natural gas, producers didn't invest the time or the money into tapping the reserves. As the economy grew, industrial use for natural gas increased. The supply, however, did not. You can't predict a cold winter like the one we're currently experiencing."

"So, let's get more of the stuff in storage."

"It's not that easy. Natural gas is transported by pipelines. You have to build those pipelines. There are considerable environmental concerns to tapping new wells, transporting the stuff over great distances. Certain temperature and pressure conditions can cause blockages--"

"That doesn't help us now. It's 15 degrees below zero in Kansas right now, and it's the middle of March."

"Well, in like a lion..."

"So, why shouldn't I listen to Hart and Grenier?"

"I thought we discussed this in December. Hart's family founded one of the largest oil companies in Alaska. Of course they want to drill the Arctic Wilderness. But there was a reason Eisenhower declared the area a protected region. It's prime breeding ground for caribou, polar bears and I don't know how many birds. The environmentalists are afraid those areas will be destroyed, even if the proposal is for use of only 1.5 million acres of land out of I don't know how many million acres."

"It's 19 million acres, with the equivalent of 16 million barrels of oil below it. And with it, there may be a considerable natural gas reserve. Ninety percent of all new plants slated for construction this year will burn natural gas. Where is all the gas going to come from?"

"You're preaching to the choir, Sam. Just over half of our energy needs come from coal burning power plants right now. That number is likely to decrease in the future, even with the new technologies allowing for cleaner burning of coal because people are so afraid that we are harming the environment. Another 20% come from nuclear power plants, but you don't see anyone asking to build them these days. Only 3% of our plants depend on oil. And 15% depend on natural gas."

"So, where does that leave us?"

"Let's just say we go for drilling in Alaska. We're not going to see any real increase in natural gas storage until the end of this decade. However, we have enough coal reserves to last us into the 23rd century."

"But you just said coal plants aren't environmentally sound."

"You take the bad with the good."

Sam's chin hit his chest as he mumbled, "We're running around in circles on this issue."

"Some are advocating the use of the not-so-nice technologies, now that oil and gas prices appear to have skyrocketed. If you had asked anyone in my department ten years ago about renewing nuclear power plant licenses, he or she would have laughed in your face. Yet in this past year alone three nuclear facilities got the go-ahead for renewal. You want cheap energy? Get it any way you can."

"So, overall, you think diversity in our fuel mix is the way to go."

"That's the gist of what I'm saying. Deregulation of the electrical industry will probably help, too, but based on California's problems right now, it's not likely that DC and the other 26 states that have deregulation plans pending are going to jump into the fire any time soon."

"We're not going to step in and force deregulation. It has to be a state thing."

"Well, you're certainly not going to get anyone to approve of hitting the SPR again, not so soon after the last time."

"Technically the President doesn't need anyone's permission to tap the strategic petroleum reserves."

"No, but he would be wise to think about it when it comes time for reelection. The Republicans still run Congress. Piss off enough people and your President is going to have some stiff competition come a year or so from now. Nothing changes the mind of the American people faster than not having enough money to pay the electric bill."

"So, what do we do? Tell me what to do. You work with this stuff everyday. You know more about this than I do."

"I take it you want to introduce legislation to increase our natural gas production without angering the environmentalists, the ecologists and whomever else you can understandably piss off by changing the status quo."

"I wouldn't have put it that way, but that's pretty much it in a nutshell."

"I'll get someone from Research and Development to explain the ins and outs for you. I'm pretty up to date on the environmental side of things. I can tell you where you'll get the most opposition."

Sam stood up and clapped his hands together. "Have you had lunch yet? We could discuss this more."

"You buying?"

"Depends. Where do you want to go?"

"I remember your eating habits from law school. As long as it's not a hot dog vendor, I really don't care."

Toby paced in front of the silent sentry's desk. Mrs. Landingham was ignoring him, as usual. Toby always believed the older woman enjoyed her petty torments, and keeping him waiting outside the Oval Office was one such torture. He knew that no one was in with the President right now. He had heard Mrs. Landingham call the President over the intercom to tell him he had arrived. But that was ten minutes ago, and she still would not let him enter the office.

The door to the Oval Office opened. "Mrs. Landingham, I thought you said Toby--"

"Sir," Mrs. Landingham started, a testiness to her voice that only she could get away with using in front of the President, "how many times have I told you to use the intercom?"

"But--"

The President's protests were quickly squashed by a shake of Mrs. Landingham's head.

"No 'but's' about it. I have showed you numerous times how to use your phone, yet you insist on ignoring my tutelage. When you acknowledge my pages the way I have asked you to, then I will send in your next appointment in a timely fashion."

The President was scowling. Mrs. Landingham continued to glare at her boss over the rim of her glasses.

"Sir?" Toby waved his hand, trying to draw attention from the warring sides.

The President's head swerved in Toby's direction. "Come in, Toby." He sneered once more in Mrs. Landingham's direction before retreating to the confines of the Oval Office.

Toby followed slowly, realizing that he had just been the unwitting participant in an ongoing technological war between the President and his administrative assistant. Such battles were notorious for turning ugly, and for taking no prisoners. Considering the combatants, it was best not to show interest or choose a side.

"That woman would let this building blow up around me just to prove a point." The President fumed in front of his desk.

"Yes, sir," Toby replied, closing the door.

"I am the leader of the free world, and she has the audacity to dictate to me how I should answer the phone."

"Yes, sir."

The President leveled one eye on Toby. "Are you placating me, Toby?"

"Yes, sir."

"So long as I know where I stand with you. What's on your mind?"

"Saturday's radio address."

"You caught wind that I wanted to talk about the education initiatives."

"Yes, sir."

"Have a seat, Toby. You're still pissed that we didn't raise the school prayer issue." The President planted one thigh against the top of his desk. He slipped on his reading glasses and picked up one of the many folders lying on his desk.

Toby stutter-stepped closer to one of the couches but did not sit. "That goes without saying."

"I won't talk about it on the radio show."

"I would not try to convince you otherwise."

The President looked at him over the top of his glasses. "Now you're just messing with my head."

"It wasn't my intention."

"I'll believe that when pigs fly. Sit down, Toby. You make me nervous when you do that shuffle thing with your feet. I can't help but think someone is about to get a dressing down, and I have a feeling that today that person will be me."

Toby sat on the edge of the couch. Fingers steepled under his chin, he thought about his conversation with Leo earlier that morning. The Chief of Staff wasn't thrilled with what he proposed, but they needed to get the ball rolling on the reelection campaign, a proactive approach that took the limelight away from the Blue Ribbon commission and some of the more controversial elements of the State of the Union address. To make matters worse, they might have to run against Hoynes again. The campaign was barely out of the starting gate and it was already a colossal headache.

"Eight months ago you said we should raise the level of debate in this country."

The President moved from the desk to the nearby chair. He removed his glasses and held them in his hand. "Where are you going with this?"

"Sometimes we pick the battles we fight. Sometimes the battles are chosen for us. I'm saying that we should pick up our sword and take up the battle on our own terms. Mandatory minimums are wrong, but we don't have the support to pull that one off. The Defense of Marriage Act, we let that one slide with a pocket veto. Appointing Josephine McGarry to the education post would have brought up prayer in schools. And no matter how we choose to spin it, I will continue to believe we dropped the ball on that one."

"I know education reform is your bailiwick, but now is not the time to bring up school prayer. If we added a rider to our own bill that prohibited prayer in public schools, it would have never left the planning stages. Not one of our supporters in Congress would have backed the plan. It's a good plan. You have to believe that, Toby."

"So we're attacking on a different front," Toby started, counting off points on the fingers of his right hand. "By providing incentives for newly appointed teachers. Tuition waivers for anyone that chooses to teach in an inner city school district. Money for mentor and after-school programs."

"I was present for all that, you know," the President replied, shaking his glasses as a teacher might a ruler at an unruly student. "Sometimes the speeches you guys send to the TelePrompTer do sink in."

Toby closed his eyes for a moment, wanting to keep his temper in check. Above anything else, he hated to have his train of thought interrupted. The President could not help being obnoxious any more than he could help being a stubborn, argumentative pain in the ass. "I'm saying that you don't have to talk about education in the radio address. I'm asking that you address the nation about taking up the sword. To raise the level of debate in this country. Why talk about one issue when you can get the people thinking about all of them?

"Let's make people think, not about what they were going to have for dinner or what they might do when they got home from their jobs, but about the state of our union and the role they play in it. Why not re-ignite that fire? Why not lead by example?"

There was a knock at the door. Mrs. Landingham held the door open for one of the kitchen stewards. Both men watched as he placed a tray on the President's desk. No one spoke as the steward left as silently as he entered. Mrs. Landingham closed the door behind them.

The President looked forlornly at the covered tray on his desk. "This is where she gets back at me for the intercom thing. Want to lay odds that everything on that tray is green, leafy and often fed to rabbits?"

"No contest, sir," Toby replied, knowing that he had lost the track of his argument with the President. The moment was gone. He stood to take his leave.

Before he could open the door, the President called to him. "You're right, Toby. We should lead by example. We should rise to the occasion. We should carry our sword rather than let it rust above the fireplace."

Nodding, Toby left the Oval Office.

"I still don't understand why you didn't tell anyone sooner that you had no hot water," Donna said, rounding the corner as she followed Carol from the parking lot. "Any one of us would have put you up for a few days."

"I don't like to be a burden."

"So you'd rather us think you were going psychotic? You're a strange bird." Donna took a good look around the neighborhood as they climbed the front stoop. There was a tree in nearly every yard. Well manicured lawns met a road that was wide enough to allow parking on both sides at all times. Giant chalky lampposts lined the street like sentinels. Even the plowed snow looked pristine. "Nice area. How did you luck out?"

"My great aunt left it to me. And the place is rent controlled. Otherwise I couldn't afford it." Carol unlocked and opened the great oak door.

The woodwork, banisters, and floors were painstakingly maintained. Large brass numbers were emblazoned on the doors. There were two apartments per floor, three floors in the building. A stairwell led up from the foyer.

"I'm on the second floor." Carol pulled off her gloves, and unlocked her mailbox to get the day's collection of bills and solicitations.

A door on the far end of the hallway opened and an elderly gentleman hobbled out from the threshold. "Carolena, you're here! I was trying to call you."

Donna, standing slightly behind, leaned over Carol's shoulder and staged whispered, "I didn't think your name was short for anything."

Carol never took her eyes off the old man walking down the hall to greet them. "It's not," she replied, only loud enough for Donna to hear. As the man approached, she took a step forward and took his arm to steady him. "Mr. Zarnowski, is there something wrong?"

Something zoomed out of the man's door. It flung itself at Carol's legs and demanded immediate attention. Carol bent down to pick up the attention seeker, a tortoiseshell cat with a peculiar kink in the end of its tail. "Hey, what are you doing down here?"

Mr. Zarnowski took the stairs slowly. "There's been a problem, and I didn't want her to get out."

"Get out? How?"

"The weight of the ice on the gutters caused them to fall. One took out your living room window on the way down. I am so sorry, Carolena. I went in to cover the window as best I could."

A cold blast of air greeted them as Carol opened her apartment door. She stood in awe of the spectacle before her. The couch that had been near the windows was in the middle of the living room. Towels were draped over one end. A large plastic sheet was duct-taped over the window. The sheet billowed with each blast of air from the outside. Potting soil had spilled on the carpet, but there was no sign of the plants. There was a rust colored wet stain under the window.

Donna put her hand on Carol's shoulder. "Oh, Carol..."

Mr. Zarnowski shuffled past her and went over to the window. "I'm sorry. I had to move some things around to get at the window. I put your plants in the bathroom. I figured they might survive okay in there. Oh, and I called that appliance place. Your new water heater should be installed Friday. That no good nephew of mine, making you wait like this. I got that nice man downstairs, Matthew-- is it okay if I let him in here to help me? He's gone to that do-it-yourself place for me to get a heavy plexi-glass so I can set this until the glass pane is ready. I put a rush on it; should be here on Friday too."

"You're staying with me," Donna said. "No 'but's' about it. Let's go pack a bag."

"That's a very good idea, Carolena. It's supposed to be very cold the next few days." Mr. Zarnowski ripped a few extra pieces of duct-tape from the roll near the window. He added extra reinforcement to the corners of the plastic sheet. "Oh, and I moved the hamsters to your bedroom. I hope you don't mind. I put one of the lamps next to the cage so that they could be warm."

"Hamsters? You have hamsters?" Donna tried not to laugh. "Did you jump from grade school right into the White House?"

Carol slowly made her way towards the back bedroom, still hugging the cat to her chest. "Technically, Jake is the one that brought them home."

"Jake?"

Carol lifted the cat away from her body. "Jake, meet Donna. Donna, Jake."

Donna stopped in her tracks. "Wait wait wait wait. One, your cat, which I thought was female, is named Jake? And two, Jake has pets? Okay, this is just a little more than weird."

Carol shifted Jake to her shoulder and opened her bedroom door. "One, I didn't name Jake. My then five year old neighbor did when I brought her home as a kitten. He named everyone and everything Jake. And secondly, the hamsters are more like... Jake's children."

Bundled on the bed, wrapped in comforters and towels from the bathroom was a glass cage. There was a running wheel in one corner. A water bottle was suspended from one side. Several empty toilet paper rolls were in various states of demolition. Pine shavings served as bedding. Most of it was piled in one corner. Carol let the cat jump from her shoulder. Jake paced around the cage and curled near one of the corners. When Donna looked closer, the pine bedding appeared to move. A small head popped out of the wood shavings, sniffed the air, and went back into hiding.

"Children? They're rats without tails."

Carol pulled a duffel from her closet. "They're not rats, they are Russian dwarf hamsters. Someone must have lost a pregnant female. Jake cornered the part of the litter in the laundry room; they couldn't have been more than 2 or 3 weeks old and no bigger than a quarter, I couldn't just leave them when I couldn't find the mother. I took the litter to the vet office that sees Jake, they found homes for all but two of them. So I brought them home. Jake's very protective of them." She paused in her packing. "What am I going to do with the animals? I can't leave them here by themselves. They'll freeze."

"I'd let you take them to my place, but I don't think my cats will take too kindly to a possible food source in your cat's protective custody. Who watches them when you have to accompany CJ on a press thing?"

"Same neighbor that named Jake. But the family is away on vacation this week. I'd leave them with Mr. Zarnowski, but his wife has asthma. The pine shavings will send her into an attack, and Jake doesn't like her anyway. There's no one else in the building that I know well enough to ask."

"So, who else do we know that might take in strays?"

Carol looked up to see what could only be described as a demonic grin on Donna's face. It took only a second to tune into Donna's frequency, and Carol started shaking her head. "No no no no no. No way."

"Why not? Jake already gets along with the hamsters. How different could a goldfish be?"

"I will not leave my animals in my boss's office, not for a day, not for an hour."

"CJ might not mind. She had the turkeys in there for almost three days. These are considerably smaller. And worse come to worse, you only really have to keep the cat in there. The cage will fit under your desk, right?"

"CJ took over my desk during those three days. The longest three days of my life."

"Okay, then, can't you board them at the vet?"

"Not without a week's notice. And there's no way I can afford the emergency boarding fee, which would seem rather ridiculous for 2 hamsters let alone a cat."

"So, basically, you have no choice. What have we got to lose?"

"Me? My job!"

"CJ's not going to fire you. Lots of First Families had pets in the White House."

"Yeah, but not in the Press Secretary's office! CJ's going to kill me."

"CJ's probably not even going to notice. Besides, it's easier to ask for forgiveness than to seek permission."

Carol sat down heavily on the side of the bed. "This is not my week."

Donna slapped her playfully on the shoulder. "And just think, it's only half over."

 


	5. Thin Margin 4

 

"Thin Margin" 4/8

Disclaimer in Part 1

 

 

Wednesday afternoon

Leo stepped out of his office, a manila folder in his hand. When he had left his desk he knew he had had an agenda, but the moment he stepped into the hallway, he drew a blank about where he was headed and why. He stopped, looked back into the office to see if he could remember what was oh so important just a few moments ago to get him out from behind his desk. Brow knitted, mouth forming a thin line as he concentrated, Leo fought the urge to walk back into his office to retrace his steps. He didn't need Margaret chasing after him with vitamin bottles or tea bags of Ginko Balboa or whatever the hell it was called. Margaret meant well, but sometimes she drove him up a wall.

"Lose something?"

Leo had learned long ago that when he was least expecting it, CJ would be standing right behind him. Wondering how someone that tall could possibly move in such a stealth like manner only gave him a headache. "Nope. Just thinking."

"'Cause it looks like you lost something."'

"Your little word-play game doesn't work on me, CJ, only simpletons like Josh. By the way, where has he been hiding?"

"I left him in his office after staff this morning."

Leo started down the hall towards Mrs. Landingham's office; maybe that was where he was originally headed. "How's his eye look?"

CJ followed him just behind his shoulder. "Like he walked into a cabinet door."

"You haven't seen him since?"

"Well, I did check in on him about an hour ago, to kid him some more about attacking unsuspecting kitchen cupboards, but he was too busy pulling his hair out trying to make sense of the stuff Donna collected for him. Making fun of him ceases to be amusing when he doesn't rise to the bait."

"What have you got for this afternoon's briefing?"

"Enough statistics to make your head spin. Did you know that between 1987 and 1997, enrollment in post secondary education institutions rose from 12.8 million to 14.3 million? That the number of women enrolled increased 17% while the number of men enrolled only increased 7%? Graduate school enrollment has increased by 27% since 1984, and the number of women in graduate school exceeds the number of men. That's a 68% increase for women as compared to a measly 22% increase for men."

"Does this sudden interest in education statistics mean that I'm going to be hearing about another war between you, Josh and Toby about who did better in school?" 

"Last month, those two ninnies clipped every news paper article they could find on the University of California system's proposal to eliminate SAT scores from their entrance requirements and taped them to my door, my office windows, and my briefing binder with not so subtle innuendoes about my academic ability. Did you ever take a look at their math scores? How about GRE's? Or, what's the one wanna-be lawyers take in college, LSAT's? I would put my analytical and quantitative scores up against theirs any day, any time. Josh can't even balance his check book, Fullbright scholar my--"

"CJ." Leo stopped outside the communications bullpen.

Throwing her arms out in entreaty, CJ continued, "What, I'm just saying--"

"Why do you all insist on showing each other up with test scores and who made dean's list how many semesters? Weren't you supposed to grow out of that phase once you left grade school?"

"Of course not. Think of it as our way of trying to be young at heart."

"Yeah, your minds work in freakish ways." Leo settled against one of the glass partitions.

"Anyway, as I was saying, of the 1,173,000 bachelor's degrees conferred in 1996, the lion's share went to business, social sciences and education. At the master's level, education and business degrees numbered 110,000 and 98,000 respectively. And education doctoral degrees topped 6800, the largest field of all. Fifty-three percent of all students that enrolled in 4-year colleges in the fall of 1990 completed a degree by the spring of 1994, 7% finished an associate's degree, 15% were still working towards a bachelor's degree. Only 24% dropped out all together."

"CJ, believe me when I say that I find this fascinating, but why are you telling me this?"

"To gauge your reaction. I can tell by that glaze in your eye that all these statistics are going to put the Press Corps to sleep during this afternoon's briefing. They won't have the energy to ask about the energy crisis."

"Don't quit your day job."

"Why would I want to do that? I live for that look on your face right now."

"Get away from me."

CJ complied, smiling the entire time. Leo spied Sam skirting through the communications bull pen and called after him.

"Sam!"

Sam pulled short and waited for the Chief of Staff to catch up to him. "Leo." 

"Where do we stand with Energy?"

"Did you know that only 15% of our energy needs are produced by natural gas?" 

Leo rubbed his face. "Dear god, not another statistics lesson."

"Statistics are our friends."

"I'll tell you what you and CJ can do with your statistics."

"It's the cleanest, most environmentally friendly energy source. Ninety percent of power plants that are in the works to be built will burn natural gas."

"Bottom line. Remember, 2 pages."

"Jessie Witt gave me the names of a few congressmen that have a genuine interest in backing a natural gas package. We'll arrange a meeting for tomorrow to put out some feelers, see who's interested, hash out an agenda, that sort of thing."

They had made the circuit of the communications bull pen and were now headed through the lobby towards Josh's office.

"All right. I want to meet with you and Josh later tonight about what we're going to put into these meetings. I want to know who you're inviting before 5 pm. And ask Ainsley to brush up the Alaskan thing. I want her in those meetings."

"I can handle the Alaska thing, Leo."

"You're not a lawyer for the White House, she is."

Josh leaned out of his office, arms braced against the threshold.

"Leo."

"Josh."

Sam pulled a cardboard slip from the collar of Josh's shirt. "You weren't wearing this shirt this morning."

Josh ducked his head, grabbing the cardboard from Sam's fingers and threw it into his office. "I sort of had an accident with a pen." He looked to Leo. "Can't I staff this thing out? Toby gets to staff things out he doesn't want to do."

"No."

"Why not?" Josh whined. "What did I do to deserve this punishment?" 

"I can think of any number of things. Would you like them in chronological order or in order of most stupendously idiotic?"

"I mean recently." Josh crossed his arms over his chest.

"Trying to build a fire with the flue welded shut isn't recent enough for you?"

"That was like two months ago!"

"Yeah, and the upholstery still smells of smoke."

Josh pointed at Sam, who was standing with his hands in his pockets. "He helped. Why isn't he being punished?"

"I'm fickle that way."

"Leo wants to meet with us tonight about tomorrow's meetings," Sam explained. "We've got Hart and Grenier at 9. They'll likely want to bring in someone from Phillips Petroleum, possibly Chevron and AEC Oil and Gas. Jessie Witt from Energy is getting me a comprehensive list of congressmen we might get to back a new energy bill. We need to come up with a list to invite, and we can meet with them officially Friday morning, informally tomorrow afternoon."

"About that, Leo, I gotta find someone to explain this stuff to me. From what I've read, it looks like maybe we should consider looking at these methane gas hydrates, and I get the gist of what's going on in these papers. But half the people I talk to over at the DOE tell me that they are a bad idea and the other half say it's the way to go."

Leo started to back away from the pair. "Call Gary Wyatt at George Washington University."

"Toby's brother-in-law?"

"Yeah. In the late '70's he was part of a scientific cruise that studied methane hydrate deposits off the Carolina coast."

"How would you know this?"

"I know everything, Josh."

"And Toby won't mind?"

"I don't think Toby would give a rat's behind about who you talk to."

"'Kay."

"Get it done, you two. Sam, I want to see you in my office at 5 pm."

Leo turned towards the lobby and stopped amid the hustle and bustle of staffers moving from one corridor to the next. He spotted CJ walking across the lobby at the opposite end. 

"You still look lost, Leo," she called before disappearing.

Grimacing, Leo refused to rise to the bait, though he still could not remember where he was headed. He wouldn't go back to ask Margaret either. Not while he had some of his pride in tact.

Toby rounded the corner of Josh's office into the Lobby. "Was that CJ I just heard bellowing like this was a playground?"

"Yeah."

"So, are you?"

"Am I what?"

"Lost."

"Toby, so help me, step on my last nerve and I'm taking you to town."

"Okay."

"What are you doing on the wrong side of the lobby?"

"Looking for CJ."

"She's probably harassing someone in the halls. Is it just me, or is she excessively happy today?"

"It's just you."

"Toby. Nerve."

"I don't know. I never pretend to understand CJ or her mercurial moods since I never know when either will turn against me."

"Uh huhn. Walk with me." They walked down the lobby, turning towards the Roosevelt Room. "You talked with the President."

"Yes." Toby answer was soft spoken. The upper half of his body turned as a single unit towards Leo, aided by the fact that both hands were in his pockets.

"About the radio address this Saturday."

"Yes."

"And he seemed receptive to the idea."

"We were interrupted by his lunch time battle with Mrs. Landingham and the Jolly Green Giant."

"I'll talk to him this afternoon."

"I'll have a draft ready by this evening."

"You're going to handle the address." A note of surprise touched Leo's voice. 

"This time, yes. It's too important to pass the buck on this one."

They paused outside Leo's office.

"We're going to win this, Toby."

Toby shrugged his shoulders and continued his circuit around the corridors.

Shaking his head, Leo walked back into his office. He still could not remember why he had left in the first place. Accepting defeat, he leaned through the doorway connecting his office to Margaret's.

Before he could say a word, Margaret spoke up, never breaking her concentration from whatever she was working on in the computer. "Nancy McNally, her office, to discuss the security measures for the Turkish ambassador's visit next month. The itinerary is in your left hand."

Leo looked absently at the folder in his hand and sighed inwardly. "Thanks."

"Okay, that's it for now. We'll see you tomorrow, same bat time, same bat channel."

The reporters still awake slowly stood and left for their respective desks in the Press area. It was a relatively slow news day, though if CJ were ever to say those words aloud, she would live to regret it. As Toby was fond of saying, it was tempting fate.

The afternoon briefing had gone as expected. CJ had started off with 10 minutes on the education statistics and a brief history of past administrations' education initiatives. The news wires had been relatively quiet concerning Senators Hart and Grenier's statements the day before, so she didn't anticipate any problems concerning that. Katie had asked a leading question about Blue Ribbon commission, which led to twenty minutes of cat and mouse games concerning the progress of the committee. Toby had wanted to keep the details as hush-hush as possible. Seth Gillette's office was more forthcoming with information, and though CJ hated playing catch-up with any body else's press office, the session wasn't a total disaster.

It had ended with lively banter about the President's thoughts on the NCAA basketball standings and if he was following March Madness. Having been caught unawares two years previous by a smart aleck reporter, she had vowed never to let the gaggle find her flat-footed again with regards to sports. When asked, she took a page from the President's book: respond with esoteric and obscure sports trivia that left their heads spinning in their chairs. She had the stats and figures for some kid out of Villanova, Something Bradley-- the name escaped her now that she didn't need it,-- and how it was a damn shame that they missed the bid. They stopped asking questions after that.

Why anyone would care what the President thought of Notre Dame's likelihood of taking the whole thing was beyond her.

Seeing there was no chance in hell Notre Dame's basketball team would make it to the Final Four and for that reason he wouldn't be paying much attention anyway. Standford was the team to do it, hands down. Besides, the women's tournament was so much more interesting to follow.

And the President couldn't find a rational way to exact retribution if she chose to make disparaging remarks about Notre Dame's basketball program when Toby, Josh, Sam and he decided to start talking basketball rather than national politics in the Oval office. So it really wouldn't interest him.

She shrugged her shoulders as she descended from the podium and headed for the press room door. Sometimes her job was just too easy.

Carol had not returned by the time the briefing started. There had been a phone call; Bonnie had tracked her down prior to the briefing to tell her that Donna and Carol would be a little late coming back from lunch. There was a problem at Carol's apartment, there was a message on the voice mail from Carol's landlord about a broken window. That was fine; CJ kidnapped Ed and Larry to help with the wires, Bonnie assisted with the briefing itself. CJ was in the zone, and there wasn't a thing that was going to knock her out of it.

At least she had thought so until she opened her office door and found Toby sitting on her couch.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, dropping her briefing folder on the small coffee table. She watched as he stared at something along the far wall, his head tilting first to the left and then to the right.

"You may want to close the door."

"Why?"

Toby pointed in the general direction of her desk. Stretched from the chair with front paws on the blotter on her desk, a tortoise-shell cat looked for all the world to be reading the newspaper she had left there earlier in the day. A quick survey of her desk and then the bookshelf next to her couch allowed her a brief moment of respite -- the gold fish bowl and its merry little occupant were safely housed on the top shelf. The cat looked up, stared at her, then returned to its study of the desk.

"What the hell is that?" she asked.

"It's a cat, CJ. I'm surprised you ever graduated kindergarten without recognizing a cat on sight." Toby continued to stare across the room.

"I know it's a cat, smartass. Why is it in my office?"

"Probably for the same reason they are." He pointed to the object of his attention.

Somewhat afraid to look, CJ slowly turned her head to the right to look at the shelving units. One television was on, tuned to C-SPAN. There was a computer console there as well, though she rarely used it in favor of her laptop, which was sitting on her desk. Where there should have been a second television, there was now a glass cage. Having discarded her glasses soon after the briefing, she pulled them from the collar of her blouse and put them back on.

Even with her glasses on, she wasn't sure she believed what she saw. On the floor of the tank was shredded wood chips and toilet paper rolls. Most of the wood shavings were piled in one corner. There was a running wheel in the center of the cage. In the wheel were two small creatures. One was running so that the wheel turned clockwise; the other clinging to one of the rungs as the wheel turned, going around in helpless circles and facing the opposite direction of the one doing the running. It would fall out of the wheel, run around the cage, and then try to take over the running direction of the wheel from its compatriot.

"What the hell, Toby--"

"Don't look at me. I had nothing to do with this."

"What are they?"

"Again, you graduated kindergarten?"

CJ shot him a dirty look.

"Hamsters. I believe they are called hamsters."

"What are they doing in my office?"

"I don't know."

"What are YOU doing in my office?"

"Right now, watching the gymnastic ability of hamsters. I think the little one is trying to make a break for it."

There was a pounding of footsteps outside her office door. She and Toby turned to see Donna and Carol both squeeze through the threshold at the same time, both momentarily out of breath.

"CJ, we can explain," Carol began.

"I should certainly hope so." CJ leaned against her desk. Toby sat back to watch the show.

Carol took a tentative step forward, fingers twisting about. "You see, there was a minor accident at my apartment."

Donna, standing behind Carol's shoulder, added, "We went there to bully her landlord into fixing her water heater. She's been without one for five days, you know."

Shooting Donna a 'you're not helping' look, Carol continued. "With all the weather we've been having, the ice in the gutters got a little out of hand, and the gutters fell and took out my living room window in the process."

"It's frigid in her apartment, CJ." Donna was nodding her head.

CJ succeeding in suppressing her laughter. At least this explained Carol's foul mood of late. She tried to keep a stern face throughout their explanation, though it was hard to concentrate when there was something feline rubbing up against her back. She tried to ignore the cat, to no avail. The car was a very determined attention seeker. Glancing at the man on her couch, she was surprised to see a bemused expression on Toby's face.

"I normally would never have asked this, but I tried to call in but you weren't here, and I couldn't find anyone to take them for me, and it's only going to be for a day or two, and --"

"We would have left them at my apartment, except my cats are demon spawn," Donna implored.

CJ held her hands up. "Carol, it's okay."

"Really?"

"Yes, yes, they can stay," CJ relented, if only to stop the Abbott and Costello routine. "For now," she added.

"Thank you." Carol seemed to deflate right in front of her eyes.

The cat had managed to jump to CJ's shoulder. Unused to an affectionate animal, CJ tried to glare at the cat. It must have been declawed, there were no pin-pricks of cat claws sticking into her clothing and skin. "Okay, I have some questions, so please bear with me, and you will because you are using my office as a kennel. Is this shoulder climbing thing normal?"

"Yes. She likes high places."

"A task you are more than adequately suited for," came the voice from the couch.

CJ shot Toby another dirty look.

"Can I know its name?"

"Her name is Jake, and before you ask, my neighbor's kid named her."

"Okay. Nice to meet you, Jake. Declawed?"

"Yes. She won't be ruining your furniture."

Toby added sotto voce, "At least not that way."

"Okay, about the hamsters--"

"They belong to Jake," Donna added cheerily.

"Never mind, I don't want to know," CJ admitted, shaking her head. "Do the hamsters have names, not that I will know which is which."

"Why would you want to know their names if you can't tell them apart?" Toby asked.

CJ scowled at him and added haughtily, "When I start talking aloud again with no humans in the room, as I predict will happen out of necessity because you will drive me to it, I would like to know whom I am talking to."

"The small one is Neville Longbottom. The big one is Harry Potter. The neighbor's kid named them too."

"At least the kid's got literary taste," Toby muttered.

"I don't have to do anything for them, do I?"

"Nope. They're set."

"They're not going to be making noise or anything, are they?"

"Ah, no. Not much anyway."

"And Jake isn't going to try to make a meal out of Gail."

"No, I don't think so."

"Okay, good. Okay, fine." The cat draped herself around CJ's shoulders like a feather boa. No matter how much she moved, the cat stood her ground. "I think that's all for now."

"CJ, I am really so sorry," Carol continued.

"Not a problem, though you probably could have told me about the water heater thing a couple of days ago. We were thinking of calling in an exorcist."

Donna whacked Carol on the shoulder. "I told you."

"All right, all right. The next time a major household appliance blows up, I'll put an ad in the paper."

"Get out of my office, both of you. Carol, I want to talk to Seth Gillette's chief of staff sometime this afternoon. Donna, where's Josh?"

"Leo sent him to GWU to talk to someone about gas hydrates."

Toby's mirthful expression dropped like a lead weight. "Gary Wyatt?"

"Yeah, I think that's his name." Donna had a queer look on her face that CJ recognized as one that told her Donna was about to do a little fact hunting on her own. "Is there a problem?"

"Nah, no problem," CJ said, standing. The cat jumped onto her desk and curled around her laptop. "Tell him I want to see him when he gets back, please."

"Okay." Donna left and closed the door.

Toby's face had twisted to unreadable. CJ shooed the cat off her desk; the cat decided that Toby's lap made a nice cushion and deposited herself there. Toby didn't seem to notice. That alone sparked CJ's interest, as animals and Toby did not add to a happy combination on a good day.

"You know, he did consult here a couple of months ago."

"Huh?"

"Earth to Toby. Why are you here?"

"I honestly don't remember."

"Did you watch the briefing?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe it had to do with the questions about the Blue Ribbon Commission."

"Possibly."

"You're not going to give me any help here, are you?"

"Doesn't look like it."

"He did consult here two months ago. It's only logical that Leo would send Josh there to talk about these hydrate things that Josh was ranting about earlier today. Didn't you tell me once that this is what your brother-in-law studied back in the day?"

"Ex-brother-in-law."

"Fine. Ex-brother-in-law. You know, it's only a matter of time before everyone figures out that you actually have a family and you did not hatch from a pod as a full grown pain in the ass."

"Not if I have anything to say about it." Toby stood up, dumping the cat from his lap. "Let me know when Josh gets back. And, the President will be changing the content of his radio address this Saturday."

"Thanks for the heads-up. Do I get to know how it's changing."

"Yeah, when I figure it out myself."


	6. Thin Margin 5

 

"Thin Margin" Part 5/8  
Disclaimer in Part 1

George Washington University

It had been a long time since Josh had set foot in an academic building for reasons other than political. The minute he finished his last final exam, he had never wanted to see another classroom ever again. He took the bar exam only because his father had asked him to do so; his true passion had always been politics.

If pressed, he could probably come up with the name of the building, despite the fact that Donna told him exactly where to go and even drew him a map with the names of the buildings on it. That map, unfortunately, was left in the cab. For about ten seconds he was ready to give credence to Donna's infatuation with the old woman's curse.

Luckily, college directories had not changed since he was in school. He found the room number for Gary Wyatt in the fourth building he had checked, and trucked up the stairs to the second floor.

The hallway was wide, with wall to wall glass cabinets filled with maps, gigantic museum quality minerals, plaster skeletons of animals he had never heard of, and rocks that appeared to have things sticking out of them that could have once been living; he wasn't sure. There were placards near many of the specimens, detailing its history, where it was collected and its significance. It boggled the mind. He was particularly impressed by a tooth labeled Carcharocles megalodon; it was nearly 7 inches long and according to the placard, belonged to the ancestor of the Great White shark, was nearly 50 feet long and hunted in the waters off the coast of Maryland. He shook his head and was glad the thing was extinct. The sharks in Congress were about all he could handle.

It was late in the day. Most of the classrooms were empty. He peered into a few of them as he walked down the halls. His appointment with Wyatt wasn't for another 15 minutes, he had time to roam the halls a bit. There were rocks on the tables in some of them, jars with things in them on other tables (he didn't want to dwell in that door for too long). In another classroom, students were gathered around a central lab bench. Half empty pizza boxes were stacked on one side. He spied several beer bottles stacked in a lab sink; he was sure that wasn't legal, at least not in an academic classroom.

His quarry was sitting in the thick of the congregation. It looked like a club meeting of some sort, from the casual atmosphere and the occasional group of raised hands. Josh left the window and continued hie perusal of bulletin boards and display cabinets.

Job postings. A search for teaching assistants for historical and physical geology for the summer semesters. Field course advertisements. Graduate school brochures. A request for tutors. A flyer for the next brown bag seminar. One poster caught his eye. It was on garish neon green paper with bright orange lettering announcing a vote for t-shirt designs and slogans to be voted on during the Undergraduate Student Geology Organization (USGO) meeting on Wednesday at 4 PM, pizza provided, BYOB. T-shirt shaped drawings were scattered about and around the text, sporting a number of different phrases:

Evolve, or Die!

Love a geologist and feel the earth quake.

Expose yourself to geology.

Imagine world pieces.

Geologists never die, they just get stoned.

Meet me behind the outcrop, baby; I'm a little boulder there.

Josh pondered what someone might come up with as a t-shirt slogan for the White House. After not so much deliberation, he decided that his brain was far too addled to think up clever sayings at this point in the day. Hours spent reading single-spaced 10 point font documents had left him with a tremendous headache.

The classroom door opened. The first student out propped the door open with a large rock sitting in the hallway. Students streamed out, slinging back packs over shoulders and generally ignoring him as they walked by. Josh slipped through the stream towards the door to peak his head in to the room. Nearly all of the students had vacated, leaving Wyatt to clean up the mess.

"Dr. Wyatt?"

Wyatt looked up and smiled. "Josh Lyman?"

"Yeah." Josh stepped up and shook the man's hand. "Leo McGarry said you might be willing to talk to me."

"Sure. Let me just clean up the room a bit. Just finishing a geology club meeting, and I drew the short straw for clean up this week." Wyatt stacked the empty pizza boxes on one table, emptied and drained the beer bottles in the sink.

Josh leaned against one of the lab benches and spied several sheets of paper with photographs, drawings and the same sayings he has seen on the poster outside the classroom. "So, which t-shirt idea won?"

Wyatt seemed a bit confused by the statement, but then Josh indicated the papers on the table.

"Oh, ah, the 'Expose yourself to geology' one. Two of our more extroverted students decided to have a friend take a photo of them in trench coats on our last department retreat."

Josh laughed as he picked up the paper with two students, one male and one female, with trench coats open wide and flapping in the wind and fedoras on their heads, facing a waterfall. Both were wearing thick wool socks and heavy duty hiking boots.

"I'm sure it will sell well."

"I have no doubt about that one. And since those two were kind enough to be facing away from the camera, the Dean won't have a problem with it." Wyatt washed his hands in the sink, drying them by shaking his hands vigorously and then wiping them on the front of his jeans. "Okay, why don't we head over to my office and we'll see what I can do for you."

Wyatt stopped around the corner and toed open one of the office doors. "I see you've named Louis Woliver to the EPA."

"Yeah," Josh replied, thinking that the cluttered state of the Wyatt's office would put Toby's piles of papers to shame. "The President thought it might be a good change of pace."

"You're not kidding. That man scares me the most, and I've faced polar bears."

"Toby's not too happy with the whole deal."

"Toby doesn't deal well with gregarious individuals that appear to be more show than tell."

"So what do you think?"

"About Woliver? I think the President made a good choice. Woliver is not a pansy-assed tree-hugger that is only going to go after issues that bring him publicity. Your administration already has one of the strictest emissions standards policy in history. That doesn't need to be addressed. Woliver will make sure the forgotten causes will be brought some attention. Look what he's done for Louisiana; he's pushed through legislation to study the effect of salt water incursion into the groundwater table along the Gulf Coast, he's seen to it that the oil companies that work out of Louisiana do not disrupt the environment any more than is necessary, and he's not going to let the doom and gloom-ers lead everyone down the primrose path that we're headed into unprecedented global warming episodes with the burning of fossil fuels. No one is better versed in the science of fossil fuels than Woliver. Trust me on this. He studied petroleum geology prior to entering law school, did you know that?"

"Actually, no."

"His undergraduate degree is in geology. He went to law school from there, paid for by the American Association of Petroleum Geologists."

"Bet they're wishing they didn't fund his post-graduate education."

Wyatt shrugged his shoulders. "He'll do a good job. But you're not here about Woliver."

"Leo tells me you used to study these gas hydrate things."

"Many years ago. Not much funding to look into them these days."

"First off, I'd like to tell you I'm not a stupid man. But what the hell is a hydrate?"

"Gas hydrates are naturally occurring substances composed of water and gas. A solid water-lattice holds gas molecules in a cage-like structure. While methane, propane, and other gases are included in the hydrate structure, methane hydrates appear to be the most common. With me so far?"

"Yup, think so. Keep going."

"Ever hear of CO2 sequestering?"

"Yeah, one of the senators from Tennessee was big on that a couple of years ago. Basically, you pump carbon dioxide into the oceans to lower the amounts in the air, right? "

"In essence. The question generally is how to get the carbon dioxide into the oceans. The oceans are a natural sink for carbon already; if you simply let the system sit, carbon dioxide will naturally go into the oceans. If we stop pumping the stuff into the atmosphere, all of our global warming problems would cease to exist. Granted, we'd probably head straight into another ice age, but that's another story.

"How do you get carbon dioxide into the oceans? Well, you could increase the amount of phytoplankton biomass, or in laymen's terms pond scum, so that the increased plant life draws more carbon dioxide out of the atmosphere. That involves messing with the global carbon cycle, and though it makes sense to do so, dumping iron - a fundamental "food" for these phytoplankton, into the oceans to help form biologic blooms so that gaseous carbon dioxide can become solid carbon and then go into permanent cold storage when the algae dies, is a little bit of a double-edged sword. John Martin theorized that the last great ice age was caused by increased winds that brought iron rich dust into the global carbon cycle. More biomass bloomed, drawing down carbon dioxide in the atmosphere to about half of today's levels. And we were plunged into an ice age.

"You could freeze the CO2 in water-ice cages and torpedo it to the bottom of the oceans. Probably one of the best ways to figure out how to freeze the stuff is to study how it's done naturally."

"Gas hydrates," Josh said.

Wyatt nodded. "Gas hydrates. Scientists have known about these things for more than a century. In the 1930's, as pipelines were extended into colder and colder climates, engineers discovered that the pipelines weren't freezing and clogging due to the presence of ice, but of methane hydrates. Methane hydrates form at higher temperatures than the freezing point of ordinary ice. So, science went in the direction of figuring out how to stop forming them rather than studying how they formed in the first place.

"But until this time, it wasn't known that these things form naturally. In 1964, a Russian drilling crew found frozen natural gas in one of their wells. After that, extensive study went into finding stores of frozen natural gas. I was part of a scientific crew that looked for these things off the coast of Guatemala in 1981.

"Two prerequisites are needed for gas hydrates: cold temperatures and a bit of pressure. They can be found around most of the continental margins, and permafrost regions of the Arctic. Some have even been found in deep lakes of Russia. They've even been found in Prudoe Bay, one of the United States' largest oil fields.

"The United States Geological Survey did a study of possible storage capacity of gas hydrates in the world's sediments and permafrost areas. With help from the Ocean Drilling Program, the USGS estimates that there could be as much as 200,000 trillion cubic feet of natural gas stored in the gas hydrates in the United States alone. There's only 1400 trillion cubic feet of conventionally recovered natural gas resources, most of which is untapped right now. World-wide, there may be up to 400 million trillion cubic feet of natural gas stored in methane gas hydrates. You tell me if it isn't worth our while to check into this sort of thing."

"The Senate introduced a bill to look into the development of hydrate technologies in 1998, but nothing came out of it."

"Three years ago we weren't looking at $2 a gallon at the gas pump. Find some senators and congressmen to reintroduce it. The Department of Energy has already funded some research into this sort of thing."

"Yeah, I know. My assistant has the uncanny ability to find every piece of minutia imaginable concerning whatever little project falls in my lap. You should see the number of index cards I know she has waiting for me when I get back."

"It can get a little dense at times. There are pitfalls to harvesting methane gas hydrates, not the least of which being that methane is 10 times more effective as a greenhouse gas than carbon dioxide is. If something should go wrong, we could be in a heap of trouble. The temperature and pressure conditions that I talked about are very sensitive to hydrate stability. Change sea level, you change pressure on the continental margins. Change the pressure, and you might, MIGHT, upset the balance that keeps the dispersed gas hydrates naturally found in ocean sediments from releasing methane into the atmosphere. However, depressurization may be exactly what is required to mine the stuff. The Russian gas field I was talking about earlier, where they discovered naturally occurring gas hydrates, probably had been tapping a gas hydrate the entire time; the pressure in the well never decreased. The heat of drilling may have destabilized the hydrate enough to continue to feed the gas field they were mining.

"Look, I've got a few more questions, if you've got the time," Josh asked.

"Certainly. My classes are done for the day."

"Greenpeace and Inupiat Eskimos have both filed separate law suits against the US Minerals Management Service for permitting Phillips Petroleum to do prospect drilling near McCovey, along Alaska's North Slope last Decemeber," Ainsley said, taking a bite out of her sandwich.

Sam paused in his study of the material Jessie Witt had messengered over to take a sip of water. His feet were propped on the corner of his desk. The pile of files on his desk had grown to a small mountain chain. A small portion of that was due to the folders Ainsley had brought with her, along with the bags of takeout she had generously offered to bring with her for their dinner. He tried to ignore that.

"Who filed first?" he asked.

"The Inupiat."

"Figures. Greenpeace yet again is riding on the tails of legitimate judiciary action."

"I haven't even told you what they are suing for. Why are you making assumptions? I thought you were an environmentalist."

"I am."

"And you, for lack of a better phrase, turn your nose up at Greenpeace, the liberal watchdog of all that is wrong in the world?"

"You're a Republican and you're defending Greenpeace?"

"The fact that I am a Republican does not mean I care any less about the environment than you do. Granted, Greenpeace is not my cause of choice, however--"

"However nothing! Why are you defending them?"

"Just to watch that little vein on your forehead pulse. It's kind of cute."

Sam scowled. His hand drifted to his temple and before he recognized what he was doing, Ainsley was snickering behind her napkin. "Are you just about finished?"

"Oh, no. I think I'll have to relive this a few more times before it loses its charm."

"Thank you. Can we get on with this? What was the nature of the law suit?"

Ainsley put down her sandwich and reached for one of several manila folders on the floor next to her. "The Inupiat Eskimos, -- should they be called Eskimos? I thought that was a derogatory name for natives of the Arctic region?"

"I don't know. They can call themselves Rin Tin Tin for all I care. Why did they file suit?"

"The tribal organization of the North Slope Borough claim that Phillips Petroleum failed to meet Mineral Management Service regulations to effectively deal with an oil spill. The off-shore area where they plan to do the prospect drilling is near the migratory path of bowhead whales."

"I wonder how long it will take Greenpeace to make a video of poor, unsuspecting whales drowning in oil saturated waters."

"I don't think that's exactly how it works, meaning that I don't think water can be saturated with oil, being that oil is less dense than water and--"

"I was being facetious." His feet dropped from his desk, and he used that momentum to stand up. As he paced around his office, he absently noted the growing number of piles and that he might even be giving Toby a run for his money.

Ainsley appeared to be having much too much fun at his expense. She was smiling sweetly up at him as he trolled around her chair. "Could have fooled me. What happened, did Greenpeace reject your contribution to the Save the Spotted Owl fund?"

"Very funny."

"Seriously, Sam. I sense some hostility here."

Sam settled the door frame, arms crossed over his chest. Ainsley would have to crane her neck 180 degrees in order to smirk at him. "Remember our Howard Chase discussion last night?"

"Yes."

"He learned that I was one of the attorneys handling the transfer of the oil tankers Toby was talking about last night. Let's just say I spent more than a fair amount of money to get the rice out of my gas tank and the sand out of my radiator."

"He did that to you? No wonder you think he's an under-medicated psychopath."

"Sociopath. I don't care what Toby says." He returned to his desk chair, moving some of the piles so he wouldn't have to move from side to side in order to see Ainsley.

"Whatever. Greenpeace's lawsuit also cite inadequate oil-spill planning."

"That's not surprising."

"Apparently oil spills are particularly hard to clean up in the colder climates."

"If the Exxon Valdez is any indication, I would suspect that case to be true."

"Phillips Alaska maintains that they plan on winter drilling; they will build an ice road and an ice island to maintain their drilling platform, and that the sea ice will effectively lessen the severity of an oil spill or well blowout, should one occur." She held up a photo-copy of what looked to be a blueprint of the drilling platform.

"Is that right?"

"They want to use horizontal drilling in McCovey as they have in Prudoe Bay."

"And that's supposed to lessen the environmental impact on the area?"

"That's what they claim."

"Do they have a case? The Eskimos, I mean."

"The Inupiat community has also filed suit against development in Northstar, 6 miles closer to shore than McCovey is. BP Exploration Alaska Incorporated needs to reapply for permits and submit an environmental impact statement in order to continue drilling prospects there. If anything, the lawsuits will slow down the application process."

"Wonderful."

Several loud bangs in quick succession rattled on the glass wall separating Sam's office from Toby's. Ainsley nearly jumped out of her skin. Sam took some joy in that. He stood up and walked towards the door.

"What was that?" Ainsley asked, jumping down from her chair.

"That was Toby."

"Toby?"

"Yeah."

"Princeton!" they heard Toby bellow.

When they stepped through the threshold of Toby's office, they found him with a phone to his ear and a red rubber ball in the other hand. He threw it viciously against the wall between his office and the bull pen.

"What's the problem?"

Toby moved the mouth of the receiver away from him as he said, "Someone just blew up a drilling rig off the North Slope of Alaska."


	7. Thin Margin 6

 

"Thin Margin" Part 6/8  
Disclaimer in Part 1.  
Sorry for the delay, folks. And I said I might be able to get the other two parts out tonight, but the Stepford Sister has decided to hold the remote controls hostage tonight until I help clean the house. Since I can't miss my weekly dose of the WB's New Tuesday (despite the fact that both shows are re-runs), I have to cave in to her demands. Will try to get at least one more part out tonight, but I make no promises, since the next part is heavy on the geology again. :-)

"What happened?"

They had all gathered in the Roosevelt Room so that someone could keep an eye on the various television sets in the Communications bull pen and have the capability to run into the President's office will any information should the need rise. Someone had brought in a telephone bank, manned by the principal assistants to see who knew what. Bonnie and Ginger were polling the different representatives of the environmental groups that still talked with the administration after the drop-in. Carol was helping CJ call the major affiliates to see who had the story. Margaret was playing liaison between the Oval Office and the Roosevelt room. Leo was in with the President, Sam was switching between a land line and a cell phone, and Toby was typing furiously on a lap top as he held his own cell phone between his ear and his shoulder.

As a unit everyone turned towards the entrance and the voice that called over the din. The President stopped near the head of the table, flanked by Leo, Martin Berryhill, Bill Hutchison and Nancy McNally. Toby stopped typing and caught the phone as it slip down his chest. Margaret hadn't told him Leo was in a meeting with the President as well as two members of the cabinet and the National Security Advisor. Everyone in the room stood until the President waved them down again to their seats.

"Toby?" Leo prompted.

Toby rubbed his hand over his forehead and consulted his spiral notebook. "Approximately 30 minutes ago, a drilling rig under construction for prospect drilling along the Alaskan North Slope was destroyed, as well as an ice road that led to the rig. Drilling had not yet begun at the site, which works in our favor. Though, there were oil drums on site that have been firing off like Roman candles."

Sam put whoever he had been talking to on the land line on hold and used his free hand to cover the mouth piece of his cell phone. "Ice breakers are having a hard time reaching the rig right now, but the ARCO Prudhoe Bay Fire Department feels it would be best to let it burn to the ground, so to speak."

"Do we know who did it?" Bartlet asked.

"No one has claimed responsibility yet. A Coast Guard helicopter was on scene within minutes of the blast. They are in constant communication with the fire department personnel on scene. Whoever did it covered their tracks well, seeing that the place is one big sheet of ice." Sam went back to waiting on hold.

"No one has been able to get near the site at this point. However, there is reason to believe that the ice bridge was blown with a timer device, simply because no one saw anything prior to the explosion." Toby flipped to another page of his notebook. "Authorities are looking into all construction and armory sites that might store explosives to see if anything has been reported missing."

"So it was obviously planned." Bartlet prowled the room. Stopping across from CJ's place at the table, he looked about and noted who was there and who was absent. "Where's Josh?"

At that moment, someone went flying by the windows and grabbed manicly for any purchase on the doors. Had the situation in the Roosevelt Room not been so tense, the attendees would have found Josh's gymnastic abilities hilarious. As soon as he touched the door, he snapped his hand back from the electrostatic shock.

Whipping open the door, Josh stepped into the room. "What'd I miss?"

Leo shot him a look before asking CJ, "Who's talking?"

"Right now, Phillips Petroleum is setting up a press conference. I've got people talking with Hart and Grenier's offices, both of which are fit to be tied right now. AP's got the story, but not all of it. CNN is running with whatever they can gleam from the AP. Not a word from any environmental groups thus far."

"This isn't a coincidence, is it?" Bartlet addressed everyone in the room, from his senior aides to the cabinet members he had dragged with him from the Oval Office. "OPEC wants to decrease oil production, Hart and Grenier push for increased drilling in Alaska on C-SPAN. Are we looking at retaliation of some sort?"

Bonnie passed Toby a sheet of paper. After reading it, Toby announced, "Greenpeace isn't claiming responsibility. And they don't know who did it."

"Would they tell us if they did know?" Josh asked, shrugging out of his coat and throwing it over one of the chairs.

"Probably not."

"CJ, you didn't put up any test balloons about the energy thing, did you?" Leo asked.

"Nope. The press haven't said a thing after our comments on Hart and Grenier's dog and pony show yesterday." Carol tugged on her sleeve and handed CJ a phone message. "Okay, I take that back. Danny just called, the Post has it now; he wants a comment in light of recent meetings between the White House and a representative from the Department of Energy, specifically a spokesperson for Alternative Energies. If Danny has it, the rest of them will have it within the next 30 minutes."

Leo closed his eyes. "It's what, 3:30 PM there now? It's the middle of the day and no one saw anything?"

"Technically, the area is in a perpetual dusk right now. It's above the Arctic Circle. Starting in about a week or so, they'll have continuous sunlight," Sam provided.

"Well, that's just great." Bartlet turned to Hutchison, Berryhill and McNally. "You guys have anything to say on this?"

"First we have to determine who did it," McNally said. "Given that, unless they crossed state or country borders, there really isn't anything we can do in terms of federal prosecution."

Hutchison added, "If we can determine where the explosives came from explicitly, the ATF may be able to make a case, see if any other demolition jobs of this nature can be linked to the same people."

"I'll talk with the Canadians." Berryhill shuffled from one foot to the other. "There's always the possibility that one of their groups is responsible. There was a bit of a bru-ha-ha a little while ago about the legalities of laying additional pipeline through Canada. Maybe someone else has taken offense."

Bartlet stuffed his hands in his trouser pockets, looking at each of those assembled in the room. "Okay, everybody, let's see what we can do about this. I want updates every 30 minutes, and if something new breaks, I want to know about it immediately. Leo, you said Sam and Josh were meeting with the oil people tomorrow?"

"Yeah. It's been arranged," Leo responded after getting a nod from Sam for confirmation.

"I want to see these guys tomorrow."

"We can arrange that, sir."

"Anything else I should know about?"

Josh took a step forward, bracing his hands on the chair in front of him. "We're also planning on floating a new alternative energy bill with some of the house and senate people late tomorrow and Friday. Sam and I are putting the pieces together now; we'll have more once we talk with the oil people tomorrow. It's not going to solve our immediate problems, but it will put us on the road to energy independence."

"I want to see a summary of whatever you've got Friday morning before I leave for Camp David. Leo, finish up here and then come meet with us in the Oval Office for a few minutes, would you?"

There was a chorus of 'Thank you, Mr. President' before Bartlet turned with his entourage of cabinet members back towards the recesses of the West Wing.

Leo tapped the table to gain everyone's attention. "Okay, here's the game plan. CJ, see if you can talk the Phillips people into pushing off their press conference until we all know a little more about who done it. For right now, the President does not have a comment until the investigation is underway."

"So I take it I shouldn't call a full lid."

"Right. Danny's got it. The network news shows still have time to make their late night deadlines; the print media have until when, 11 PM, to write what they want? Let them at least get it right so there won't be a need for a retraction. We don't need a PR disaster to come out of this. Josh, I want you to handle Hart and Grenier's offices. We don't need any more hotheads running roughshod all over the situation. Sam, where are you and Ainsley on this Alaska thing?"

"We were going over some of the lawsuits against Phillips Petroleum in the area when Toby called us."

"Okay. You and Ainsley keep at that. If you come across anything that might point to who did this, I want to know yesterday. Toby, that leaves you with the environmental groups."

Toby stared down Leo, not moving or commenting.

"Don't look at me that way. You're all we've got left and you'll scare the pants off them anyway. Play nice, and we might get out of this with all of our clothes. Let's get it done, people."

Jed Bartlet stared at the plate before him, completely uninterested in the food that was sitting there. It wasn't the food was not palatable or unappetizing; the food wardens had told the kitchen staff that he could have Yankee Pot Roast with mashed potatoes and gravy biscuits if he had been a good boy. He was on good terms with most of his kitchen staff. They often shared with him word for word his wife or Mrs. Landingham's jailhouse orders, as they referred . Thus the name food wardens. However, he did not have much of an appetite, and had not had one for quite some time.

From the doorway to their private dining room in the Residence, Abbey watched as her husband picked at his food. The last two months had been busy for her. Appearances at women's convocations and causes she believed in, conferences on Family Wellness Reform, and her lecture circuit. Jed often joked that she was a more popular public speaker than he was, and quite often she agreed. They had been apart for far too long, and she missed just watching him do the everyday chores and duties like eating, sleeping and playful arguing over how they never seemed to have enough time together. They didn't even have that right now.

Perhaps all the scheduling and re-scheduling, postponing and re-adjusting of her calendar had been in part due to the thing that was floating between them, this nebulous phantom promise she had exacted from him when she agreed to let him run for president when Leo came knocking on their New Hampshire doors. She always floated her calendar by him; he never objected to any of her trips, not after that statue thing in the fall. They had joked about that, but the humor wasn't there.

He looked up and spotted her watching him. Pointing to the chair opposite him, he beckoned her to sit down and join him. So many words were left unspoken, but the silent communication was still there. At least that had not left them.

"I see you let the cooks out of the dog house," he mentioned, playing mercilessly with his mashed potatoes.

"And if they saw what you were doing to your meal, they might protest out of spite," she returned, grabbing his fork and taking a bite.

"Hey, that's mine. I don't get to eat what I want all that often you know."

"Then stop playing with it and eat it, you fool."

With playful determination, he wolfed down half his pot roast and an equal amount of potatoes, using his knife to fend off her advances with her own cutlery. He finally gave up, stomach sated as much as it ever would be with his lack of appetite and pushed the plate towards her. She quietly and efficiently finished his plate, collected the dishes and placed them near the corner for one of the ever present stewards to fetch at his convenience.

"How was your thing?" Jed leaned back in his chair, arm braced against the table's edge.

"My thing? Has your vocabulary deteriorated since you've been in office? My thing? What are we, in the third grade?"

"Blame my staff. I think Josh started it."

"It's amazing he even passed the SAT's," she remarked, leaning forward on her arms. "My 'thing' as you so eloquently put it, went very well. I met some very interesting people in Seneca Falls."

"This wasn't one of those revivalist Daughter's of the Revolution thing you went to, was it?"

She put on a miffed face, but decided he was only trying to lighten the mood between them. "No. I was the keynote speaker for a Women in Science symposium. There were some very enterprising young women at this meeting, people you should keep an eye on in the future. Some of them are doing things with the undergraduate and graduate education that I would have never dreamed of when I was their age."

"You were never their age, dear."

"For that, you don't get desert."

"I don't really want it anyway."

There was silence between them, not entirely uncomfortable, but uneasy, and neither were used to that.

"Toby wants me to change the Saturday address."

"Really? I thought everyone agreed talking about education reform, to highlight the bill that was just sent to Congress, was a good idea."

"I think they still think it's a good idea, only Toby wants it different. And I think I agree with him." He paused, leaning forward himself. "Last year, there was so much we wanted to get done. We pressed the flesh, we made the passes, we fought for what we believed was right. And then came Rosalyn, and all that went to hell in a handcart. I'm not entirely convinced that we left only bad memories behind when we came out of that one.

"We've been at a standstill for so long, Abbey. I thought I would have more time to make a difference, and that doesn't seem to be happening right now. We have the Family Wellness Act coming through in the coming weeks. That will stand out in my legacy, but I don't want that to be the only thing."

Abbey nodded, knowing that he needed to do this, he needed to talk through the thoughts running rampant in his head. Though he wanted to talk about a second term, he wasn't going to bring it up. There was too much water under the bridge to stop that one from flooding into an argument.

"Someone blew up an oil rig in Alaska this afternoon." He looked to the ceiling, stretching his neck and shoulders as he did so.

The quick change of subject was not a new phenomenon. She had learned to switch gears just as easily in the last few months.

"I heard. Anyone claim responsibility yet?"

"No, but Leo said he would keep me updated. I keep thinking that all these crises keep popping up just to annoy me."

"Yes, all the world centers around Josiah Bartlet," she joked, patting his outstretched hand.

"It is, it really is a conspiracy. The minute I set my mind to fixing something, someone somewhere decides that I have too much time on my hands and send me something else to fix."

"Well, don't start wearing tin-foil hats to bed, and I'll leave you alone to your paranoia."

"Thank you, dear. You're so helpful. Whatever happened to 'for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, and during paranoid delusions'?"

"Oh, didn't you know, I made an amendment to the marriage vows that said you were on your own during fits of madness."

For the first time that evening, she saw a genuine smile on his face. She squeezed his hand before rising. "I have to meet with Lily for about an hour or so. I'll see you later tonight?"

He nodded, and she slowly left the room, glancing over her shoulder to watch him huddle once again with his demons.

Toby was bouncing two balls at once against the floor when his eye caught a news flash on the TV screen. Stuffing one ball in his pocket, he reached for the remote and turned off the mute. CNN had been airing continuing coverage of the 'Crisis on the North Slope' for the better part of an hour, regaling the populous with no new information in several unique and different ways. After the third installment of archival file footage from previous problems at the Phillips Petroleum sites along the Alaskan North Slope, he had given up the ghost and tried to reinvent the wheel with the President's Saturday address. Feeling frustrated, he prowled the small confines of his office, periodically throwing and bouncing the menacing rubber balls against the wall, ceiling, and floor.

The CNN anchor was breaking in with live coverage of a news conference just outside the Capital Building. There were people milling about and reporters trying to gain purchase for their microphones on the makeshift podium. Toby spotted a figure in the background and prayed that it wasn't who he thought it was.

His hopes were dashed when that same person stepped up to the microphone bank and started speaking. His name flashed briefly on the bottom of the television screen.

Harold Chase.

"No no no no no no no."

With each utterance, the rubber balls bounced harder against the floor.

Not even bothering to pick up a phone, he stepped to his doorway and bellowed, "CJ!"


	8. Thin Margin 7a

 

"Thin Margin" Part 7a/8

Disclaimer in Part 1

 

 

Thursday morning

Three different news shows were airing simultaneously in CJ's office, two on television sets and the third as an internet feed on the computer screen. None of the sets had the sound muted, and it was a wonder that the occupant of the office could understand anything that was being said.

CJ leaned against the side of her desk. She had a single serving container of cereal in one hand, and was sipping from the remains of the half pint of 2% milk she had poured over her breakfast. So far the fallout from what had been dubbed 'The Harold Chase Event' had been tame by their standards. It could have been far worse. The talking heads on CNN Headline News had just started to rerun their news stories. She clicked the volume button for that set's remote so that she could hear.

"In response to yesterday's destruction of an oil rig outside of Prudhoe Bay, Alaska, Greenpeace spokesman Harold Chase had the following to say:"

The scene cut to last night's press conference outside the Capital building. The sky was a deep blue color, the Capital building had been lit from flood lights, and the camera's lights caught stray falling snowflakes. A fairly ordinary looking man was standing in front of a bank of microphones. His head bowed up and down above the microphones as if he was reading from note cards in his hands. The winds that had plagued the DC area for the better part of the week had tossed his blonde hair so that it covered his balding crown. His cheeks were red, and she wondered if something other than windburn had something to do with it. He had a hard face, weather-beaten. His voice was gravely, with a trace of a mid-western accent. Non-descript.

CNN cut in mid-speech.

"-- organization does not condone the extreme violence associated with the destruction of the oil rig. We have legitimate lawsuits pending in California's Ninth Circuit court concerning prospect drilling along Alaska's North Shore. There are legal ways to stop drilling in the Arctic. However, no such legal action would be needed if an administration that claims it is a friend to the environmental lobby would do something, anything, to combat the rape of our natural resources--"

The scene cut back to the talking head on CNN.

"Chase went on to admonish the Bartlet administration for its good faith policy making with the environmental lobby while playing suitor to the automobile and oil industries. White House aides had this to say:"

The next news file clip was from her briefing shortly after Chase's press conference ended. She had heard Toby bellowing seconds after she had turned on CNN and a number of others to catch what all the 24 hour news networks were saying about the explosion. She had dutifully answered his call after sitting Carol down in front of her televisions with explicit instructions that she was not to leave or touch the volume controls.

After threatening to shove the damn rubber balls down his throat if he didn't put them away and calm down, Toby helped her outline a response for the next press briefing. What had been a slow news day had turned into burgeoning nightmare.

"-- President Bartlet has been a strong advocate of the environment for years, as evidenced by his support of stronger emissions standards for factories, protection for our fast-disappearing wetlands, and incentives for automobile companies to produce hybrid cars. I'd also like to remind Harold Chase that President Bartlet, during his tenure in the United State House of Representatives, voted to add stricter measures for violation of the very law that Greenpeace is using to sue Phillips Petroleum--"

Parts of the same sound byte had been played on several of the morning news shows and had even found a place below the fold on the front page of a few newspapers. The demolition of the oil rig had been important, but not enough to displace other events in the country of their prominence.

She returned the volume back to its normal setting and returned to her breakfast. As she lifted the spoon to her mouth, there was a knock at the door. Looking in that direction, she beckoned the visitor in with her now empty spoon.

Josh was staring at her with a strange expression on his face. He was still in his trench coat and sunglasses, cocking his head to one side and then the other. "What the hell are you eating?"

"Fruit Loops," she replied, mouth still full. It sounded more like 'root oops'.

"Fruit Loops? Does the press know you eat a kid's cereal?"

"Shut up." Swallowing, CJ sat down in her chair, only to pop right back up as the seat was already occupied.

Jake the cat made a beeline for the couch, then jumped onto the desk, and then leaped towards the bookshelf where the hamsters were located. Situating herself on top of the cage cover, she started cleaning and preening her coat. The hamsters, meanwhile, raced for the wheel and started their dominance games all over again with the cat presiding over them.

Josh stared dumbfounded. "CJ, when did your office become a zoo?"

"When your assistant conspired with my assistant yesterday afternoon to fight the evil landlords of the world. Seeing that my entire life has been one gigantic circus act this week, I thought the animals added color."

"I missed a lot yesterday, didn't I?"

"That's what happens when you hide in your office all day."

"I was not hiding. I was avoiding Donna."

"Why?"

"Because she refuses to let this curse thing go."

"And why would that be? Since yesterday, you've managed to walk into a kitchen cabinet, ruin a dress shirt when a ball point pen exploded in your pocket - I'm still trying to figure out the logistics of that one - and fall down outside the Roosevelt Room in front of everyone. And I see that you are still sporting the sun glasses today. Have another unfortunate accident with a piece of your home this morning?"

"It's sunny outside. It's bright. Or didn't you notice on the way in?"

"I haven't left yet."

"You spent the night here? Why?"

"Because it was 3 AM before my phone stopped ringing for a White House comment on the oil rig thing. All that, and not a one of my witty remarks made it above the fold. By the time I got everything done that I needed to get done for this morning, it was 4:30 AM and there really was not point in driving the 20 minutes home so that I could get up to go to the gym ten minutes later. I stayed here."

"And slept on that?" He pointed to her couch. "You're like more than twice the length of that thing."

"I didn't say I slept on MY couch."

CJ was smiling much too serenely for Josh's tastes. Josh closed his eyes and shuddered. He wrapped his arms around his head. "Too much information!"

When he finally emerged from his self styled cocoon, CJ was trying not to shake as she laughed. "There are long couches in the women's locker room downstairs, Josh."

"You guys get couches? That's not fair."

"First Sam with the bathrobes and you with the couches. When are you two going to realize that the women here actually do run the show and everything is catered to our needs?"

"It's still not fair."

"Deal. Now, what do you want?"

"I'm still avoiding Donna."

"Why, what happened this morning that has anything to do with the curse of the evil bag lady?"

"Nothing! Well, I did sleep through my alarm this morning and spilled coffee all over my shirt on the drive here," he replied, opening his coat to expose said stain, "but that could happen to anyone. Right?"

CJ stared impassively at him for several seconds before shooing him from her office. She returned to her breakfast.

Toby knocked on her door seconds later after Josh left. CJ roared, at least tried to since her mouth was full of cereal and milk again.

"Why is it you guys show up when I'm trying to do something normal, like eat?"

"Eating Fruit Loops is normal?"

"For me, yes. What do you want?" She put down her breakfast on her desk and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Testy this morning?"

"I wouldn't be testy if someone hadn't decided to make a big deal about the Harold Chase thing. I was here until 3 AM getting phone calls about our stand on every environmental issue under the sun, Toby. I spent another 90 minutes getting my briefing notes ready for the jackals this morning. I haven't been home yet. And you and Josh are giving me grief over my breakfast choice."

Toby leaned against the door jamb. "Please tell me you don't harbor the same belief in a new shirt."

"What the hell--"

"Those aren't the same clothes you were wearing yesterday, are they?"

"So nice of you to notice."

Toby stepped forward and handed her a manila folder. "Saturday's address."

CJ took the folder and flopped on her couch. Toby returned to his spot at the door. She grabbed her glasses from the low end table and perused through the speech. When she noticed he had not left, she glanced sideways at him and made a shooing motion with her hand. "You can leave now."

Reaching into his pocket, Toby produced one of his red rubber balls and tossed it to her. "Use this to ward off anyone else you makes fun of your breakfast." He turned and left.

CJ shook her head and went back to reading the speech he had handed her. A slurping noise drew her attention to the desk. The cat was sitting primly over the remnants of her breakfast, licking her chops. Leaning her head back, CJ sighed at the ceiling.

"Go ahead," she told the cat. "I'm not going to want it now."

The cat purred loudly and went back to her pilfered meal.


	9. Thin Margin 7b

 

"Thin Margin" Part 7b/8  
Disclaimer in Part 1  
Notes: Sorry this took so long. Real life took over the wheel and only just now relinquished control. The end is coming soon. Hah! (Sorry, been listening to CCR ever since the mention of "Bad Moon Rising" as an episode title.)

Josh made sure to get rid of the cardboard collar in his shirt prior to entering the Roosevelt Room. He wasn't looking forward to this meeting. Two of the biggest blowhards in the United States Senate were seated in that room, as well as representatives of Phillips Petroleum and BP Exploration, two of the largest oil companies working out of Alaska, as well as Jessie Witt from the Department of Energy. Sam and Ainsley were already in seated at the table; he would have to join them soon enough. He took a deep breath and opened the door.

"Sorry I'm late. Senator Hart, Senator Grenier." He nodded to the two senators seated on the opposite side of the table.

Sam made the introductions. "Josh, let me introduce you to Frank Murko, representative of Phillips Petroleum, Clint Harken, representative of BP Exploration, and Jessie Witt from the Department of Energy."

Josh shook hands with everyone and took a seat next to Sam. "First, I'd like to say that the President is as concerned about the act of terrorism on your oil rig as you are," he directed to Murko.

Murko didn't acknowledge Josh's words with his own or any motion. Josh didn't take that as a good sign. He tried to hide the fact that he needed to take another deep breath.

Everyone else in the room noticed the increased tension as well. Hart spook up, "Perhaps our friend Frank is a bit disturbed by the comments made during yesterday's televised response to Harold Chase's press conference."

As much as he wanted to scream about the apparent pissing contest going on-- was this guy truly upset because Toby and CJ chose to address the specific points of Harold Chase's accusations rather than placate to every lobby under the sun?-- Josh kept his cool and turned his attention to Hart.

"Senator, you are the chairman of the Senate Committee on Energy and Natural Resources. President Bartlet is as concerned about the energy crisis as you are."

"There is no energy crisis!" Hart banged his fist against the table top. "We have not run out of oil, we have not run out of natural gas. Your administration has been congratulated for bringing on a booming economy. Fine. However, you've also followed in the footsteps of your predecessors and employed a policy of taxing demand on what reserves we do have, limiting supply and ignoring the rapidly expanding needs of the future. What it boils down to is that you believe that we can't find the energy reserves we need, we can't transport it, and even if we can get it, you don't want us to use it. You'd rather go to OPEC than tap what we have right under our feet.

"You'd rather hit the strategic petroleum reserve than deal with real solutions. When you tapped the SPR last December, do you know where the oil was refined? Not here. The number of our refineries have been cut in half since 1980. Add to this regulations, regulations that your administration has had a hand in redefining, that require the production of 15 different types of gasoline, all of which must meet sulfur emission standards set by your administration, and you have a refining industry that is strained to capacity. We had to send the oil overseas to be refined. That's inexcusable."

"Senator, believe me when I say, that we are looking into these problems right now. That's one of the reasons why we've asked you here today."

Sam took over. "Rest assured that the President is not going to make the Arctic National Wildlife Refuge into a national monument."

"Well, that's good, seeing that would be akin to curing a paper cut by cutting off the arm," Grenier posed.

"We're also not going to open up the Wildlife refuge to you for prospect drilling."

"Do you realize how much oil and natural gas could be under the Refuge? The Energy Information Administration released a report last year that said the coastline of the Refuge could hold the largest supply of untapped oil reserves."

Grenier passed a manila folder to Sam. "The amount of oil projected to be under that parcel of land could inject anywhere from $125 to $350 billion into our economy over the next 60 years. That's an additional $2 to $6 billion a year, from a single oil field alone. In that report are the numbers from the EIA as well as the United States Geological Survey. There's an average of 10.3 billion barrels of oil in the ANWR coastal plain."

"I've seen those reports," Ainsley said. "According to the Sierra Club and Audubon Alaska, the report you refer to discusses 'technically' recoverable oil, not 'commercially' recoverable oil. The economic benefits are also based on the EIA's projected price of $22.04 per barrel of oil in 2020, which is also the projected date of fruition for the United States to get anything out of drilling oil in the area."

Hart was shaking his head. "I wouldn't be surprised if someone connected to one of those groups is connected to the destruction of the oil rig yesterday."

"Those groups have every reason to be concerned about the dangers of oil spills in the area." Sam produced a number of his own manila folders. He fanned them one by one on the table between them. "The North Slope is prime calving grounds for a number of species, including polar bears, porcupine caribou--"

"The Centric Arctic herd of caribou has nearly tripled in the Prudhoe Bay area since 1978," Harken added. "Oil development can go hand in hand with environmental protection."

"And all that will be addressed, as well as other items of environment and ecologic interest when the report from the National Research Council's comprehensive study on North Slope environmental and social impacts is ready next year." Hart pointedly ignored the folders Sam had placed in front of him.

"Then maybe next year we can address all of this again," Sam replied.

Hart crossed his arms over his chest. "And continue with your administration's policy of procrastination. Sure. When the price of gas skyrockets this summer, we'll see how many Democrats are re-elected to Congress in November. We stopped you in 1995 with a federal shutdown; don't think the Republican Congress won't do it again."

"Technically, you didn't stop us; we weren't in the White House in 1995."

Josh put a hand up for a recess before Sam's snide remark could be acted on by the Republicans across from him. It was a strange place for Josh to be in, the mediator instead of the instigator.

"Okay, this is getting us nowhere."

Grenier leaned over the table, stabbing it with every point he made. "Oil revenues account of two-thirds of Alaska's general government funds. Public sentiment strongly favors more oil development. Our latest polls indicate that Alaskans want drilling in the Arctic Refuge. And the Democratic governor, I might add, is also in favor of drilling." Josh groaned, and leaned back in his chair.

Sam was back in his subdued rant mode. Josh made sure he had a hand ready to reel him back in if the need should arise. "Oil development in the North Slope Borough has grown so that the oil fields can be spotted as easily as New York City from the Space Shuttle. Oil operations emit over 56,000 tons of nitrogen oxides into the atmosphere, which is more than twice the level of the same sort of pollution produced by Washington, D.C. And there is serious question about the injection of oil field wastes into the tundra as opposed to landfills."

Josh was about to intervene when Ainsley placed a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"At the same time, BP Exploration has cut down the size of gravel drilling pads by 70%. Permanent roads are no longer needed to link distant fields in favor of temporary ice roads and drilling platforms that disappear in the summer. Phillips Petroleum has been innovative in reducing sulfur emissions both in the refinery process and meeting gasoline standards."

"The study the National Research Council is conducting is going to show that our development plans are eco-friendly and responsible," Harken said. "Advances in directional drilling are allowing us access to areas without having to disrupt the surface with drill rigs, roads and whatnot. We've complied with all state regulations concerning our offshore drilling operations.

"Last July we tested a new system to deal with oil spills at our offshore drilling rigs. One of the foremost objections to offshore drilling operations is how we can effectively deal with oil spills among the ice flows. Industry experts demand that any spill response system should work in waters containing up to 70% of broken ice. Our test demonstrated an ability to operate in waters with up to 30% ice. We planned another test last September, but due to lawsuits instigated by Greenpeace, the Sierra Club and a host of other environmental companies, we haven't been able to do much of anything."

"And I'm sure your efforts are appreciated," Josh said.

"Not by the right people," Murko finally stated. "Millions of dollars will be lost because of what happened yesterday. More harm than good was done when that rig was blown. Luckily, drilling had not yet started or else we could really put a test to the spill response systems. It was careless. Whomever is responsible should be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law."

"If the perpetrators are found, I'm sure that will happen," Josh placated. "But there are other things we need to discuss. More and more demand for natural gas is going to require that we find ways to get it to the market."

"When you lift the ban on the 40% of natural gas reserves found on federal lands, then maybe we can talk." Murko leaned back in his chair, tapping a pen against his thigh. "Today's pipelines can hardly handle the supplies we know that do exist. We need nearly 38,000 additional miles of transmission pipelines and 255,000 miles of distribution lines to handle what we have right now."

Harken added, "Prudhoe Bay produces 8 million cubic feet of natural gas a day. This is the equivalent to 13% of America's daily consumption. But this gas never reaches the market because we can't get it to the U.S./Canadian distribution system."

Witt stepped up to the plate. "The need for cleaner burning fossil fuels is at the forefront of any energy package we could put in front of the Congress that has any hope at all of getting past the GDC and any other environmental lobby that has the ear of either the Senate or the House."

"We want to introduce a bill that will offer research monies to study the feasibility of harvesting gas hydrates."

"Whoa whoa whoa." Murko held his hands up. "Why are you going after that pipe dream? We have the resources, reliable reservoirs to hold us over for well into the next century."

"And we'd like to go for a couple more after that." Josh turned his attention to the two senators from Alaska. "There's already data to suggest that Prudhoe Bay has a large gas hydrate reservoir. The USGS is already conducting a study. Research money has not been available to the study of gas hydrates for nearly a decade. We need alternative fuel sources. This may be one of them. We want your support."

"You're going to have a harder time selling it to the environmentalists," Hart said.

"Yeah, we probably will. But we want this to happen. You can help. We don't need your help; I'm pretty sure we can garner enough support in both the House and the Senate."

"What good will it do you? You won't be able to reap any benefits from it for another two decades," Murko said.

"And we won't see a drop of oil from the ANWR for a decade either," Witt provided. "We're talking about the same time table."

"We're willing to make provisions for you," Josh added. "Incentives for any oil companies that do research and development into gas hydrates."

"You have to get it past the environmental lobby," Hart warned.

"We will."

Josh was glad to see Sam had dropped his adversarial tone. "We're proposing it to some of them tomorrow. Can we count on your support?"

"I can't make any promises. I answer to some very important constituents."

"Two of which are sitting right here," Sam stated.

"We'll see."


	10. Thin Margin 8

Thin Margin - Part 8

 

 

Friday Morning

For only being half past seven in the morning, the day had not been all that bad yet, and CJ didn't care if she was tempting fate by saying so. Having spent nearly 36 hours straight in the West Wing, Leo had sent her home twelve hours ago; he had caught her having an animated conversation with Carol's cat, complete with arm waving histrionics, and told Carol to arrange for her to get home ASAP. She didn't remember getting into any car, let alone how she got into bed, and she had to keep glancing at her paper to make sure it really was Friday morning.

With a large to-go coffee in one hand, one of many newspapers tucked under an arm and her briefcase in the other hand, CJ walked through the halls of the West Wing, mumbling hello's as she passed people, still not quite awake despite having almost ten hours of sleep. That was the problem with turning a regular sleep schedule inside out; no matter the number of hours of sleep after a marathon awake session, she always felt drained.

The door to her office was slightly ajar. Toeing the door open, she did manage to remember to check the couch for a rather large fur ball before dropping her briefcase on it. Noticing that the cat was on her desk, she flopped down next to her briefcase and deflated. Carol was standing by her desk, the hamster cage on the corner of the desk. The lid was off, and Carol had her hand in the cage. One of the hamsters was sitting in her hand, happily eating sunflower seeds. The smaller one was making a valiant effort to scale the sleeve of her blazer.

"CJ, sorry. I didn't think you'd be in this early. I was just feeding the animals."

CJ waved her hand in a dismissive manner. She was trying to stifle a yawn and not succeeding. "Messages?"

Her assistant was almost apologetic in her response. "Simon's handling most of them. Leo told me to farm out your morning."

Head draped against the back of the couch, CJ didn't have the energy to protest. "Whatever."

Carol was looking at her strangely. "Okay, who are you, and what have you done with CJ?"

"You have a hamster on your shoulder." CJ pointed at the creature with her coffee cup.

"Uh, CJ, there's a reason Leo had me farm out your morning, besides the fact he sent you home yesterday." Carol absently grabbed at the animal on her shoulder and placed it back in the cage.

Groaning, CJ placed her coffee cup on the table and fell over on the couch. "I'm not going to like this, am I?"

"Harold Chase is coming in this morning."

Shrugging her arms out of her coat, CJ left it to bunch around her waist. "Kill me now."

"Leo wants you to handle him."

"Why me?"

"Because Josh and Sam are talking with Congressmen Hoyt and Santana about the energy bill, Leo is meeting with the National Security Advisor for the morning, and Toby is likely to kill him."

"I don't know anything about the environment, other than to know that it's, you know, there. Sam's the tree-hugger in this administration. Why can't I switch jobs with him?"

"Because Donna told me that Ainsley said to her that Sam is particularly cheesed at the man for something he did to his car a couple of years ago. Apparently Sam can hold a grudge for a very long time. He's more likely to attack Harold Chase than Toby is."

CJ walked herself through Carol's response a couple of times trying to keep track of all the names until she finally surrendered. "Just kill me now. So, because I have the least amount of homicidal tendencies in this entire building, I get to play hostess to an immature, lying, manipulative, psychotic, inadequately medicated sociopath."

"You can't medicate a sociopath, CJ."

"Watch me. It's called a baseball bat. Toby has one in his office." CJ sat up, ignoring fly-away strands of hair. "I've got to get rid of this nice gal image. Those three can get out of any cheese task they want by simply threatening to explode."

Carol placed the cage back on the shelf, then made sure that Gail the goldfish was fed and entertained. "I think knocking your door off its hinge was a pretty good indication to them that you thought hiring Ainsley was a bad idea. Sam still hasn't stepped into your office unescorted."

"I'm over that now. And Sam is just a wimp."

"And you did tell Josh what exactly could and could not go into the Family Wellness Act with regards to women's health care, including how employers cannot prohibit or exclude birth control pills under their medical coverage plans." Carol switched gears from animal tending to CJ tending. She flipped the calendar page to the correct date, turned on the televisions to their appropriate channels and dumped all of the remotes next to CJ on the couch.

"Well, that's just wrong. Employers should not get to pick and choose which services should be available to which sect of their workforce, based on their own religious or societal beliefs. It's discrimination, pure and simple."

"Josh was hiding in his office for hours after you badgered him in the hallway. He had Donna reconnoitering the halls all afternoon before he would leave his office. And I think even Toby will think twice before ever co-opting a press briefing after the Leadership breakfast thing."

CJ watched as her assistant left the office for her own desk. "Carol, you have restored my faith. I can be as deranged as the rest of them."

"You still have to deal with Harold Chase," Carol called back.

"Damn."

"Staff in 20 minutes."

The hamsters were squeaking. The cat was purring. CJ believed that if she tried hard enough, she could actually hear Gail blowing bubbles in her little bowl. At least these animals were easy to deal with. The others, comprising most of the senior staff, were another story all together. She stared absently at the television screens, barely registering the headlines as they scrolled, not that she could read them from the couch.

"Carol, when will my office stop looking like the set of 'Wild Kingdom'?"

Carol reappeared at the office door. "This afternoon. My landlord called me last night and said the repairs to my living room window would be finished this morning." She turned back to her desk.

"Okay."

CJ sat and contemplated the television screens, the pile of newspapers she needed to go through, when she would decide which stories would merit inclusion in her briefing notes. When she tried to stand, her arms were effectively trapped inside her coat, giving her no leverage to get off the couch. Groaning, she leaned back against the cushions. "Carol! Help!"

Josh was running late again; as the rest of his week seemed to dictate, it did not come as a surprise to him when his car would not start. Donning his back pack, he tightened his collar around his exposed neck and headed to the White House on foot. Thankfully the sidewalks were clear. On a normal day, it would take him about 30 minutes to walk to work. The way things were going this week, he decided he would be lucky to make it under an hour.

He took a minor detour through the Mall on his way. Every once in a while he liked to walk by the monuments, when none of the tourists were around to bother him in his quiet contemplation. Sometimes he would sit and think, at other times he would simply walk by, glance briefly at the larger than life likeness of Lincoln or the quietness of the Reflecting Pool and cherish that moment of peace in what was normally a fairly hectic life.

Taking a moment to pause before the Lincoln Memorial, he readjusted the back pack on his shoulder and turned to make a quick retreat in the direction of the White House. As he stepped backwards, he bumped into someone or something. Whirling, he caught himself on a luggage cart.

"I'm sorry," he automatically said, grabbing an elbow to steady the person pushing the cart. It only took him a second to realize whom he had run into, again. She was wearing the same worn overcoat. A knotty wool watch cap sat on her head, covering gray hair that would have looked rather elegant had it not been tied into a sloppy bun sitting on the nape of her neck. Her gloves were mismatched, and her shoes looked like they had seen better days, but they appeared durable. The glasses she wore were taped together at one temple; a shoestring was tied to both ear tines and draped across her neck, over her coat.

"You!"

"Still have your mind on a million and one things, I see," the woman replied, righting her nearly tipped cart and claiming the fallen items before he could stoop to pick them up for her. "I've been in this city forever and a day, and it never surprises me to find people like you running around like a rooster with his head cut off."

Josh held his tongue; he didn't need to invoke another curse, or endure another week of Donna regaling him with every curse known to mankind.

The woman continued, leaving the rest of her spilled belongings on the ground for the meanwhile. "Let me ask you something: when was the last time you stopped to take a breath?"

"Let me help you with that," he said, ignoring the question. "Do you ever stop? Are you like a shark that needs to keep swimming in order to stay alive?"

Josh stopped rearranging the cart. "I don't really see where this is any of your business."

"It's not. I'm just a nosy old broad looking for a little fun at your expense."

"And putting a hex on me is your idea of fun?"

The woman was watching him carefully; Josh wasn't sure if she wanted to bat his hands away or give him another stern lecture. "Is that what you think I did to you? That's a new one."

"You didn't put a hex on me?"

The woman laughed. It was rich and deep, and not at all the congested, drunken sound he had until that moment associated with the destitute he had come across in his lifetime. He wondered what this woman was doing on the streets in the first place. She didn't have that sickly pallor or unkempt appearance as some of the others the police were currently running off the Mall and the steam vents near the monuments that morning.

"Dear god, no. I said bad luck would follow you if you weren't mindful."

"And that's not a hex? It certainly sounded like one to me."

"I take it you've had a bit of misfortune this week since last we met."

"I've fallen out of a chair and I can say with absolute certainty that I was not drunk at the time. I walked into a cabinet in my own kitchen. A pen exploded on my new dress shirt. I left directions to a meeting in a cab. I fell outside the Roosevelt Room. Slept through my alarm clock three mornings in a row. Spilled coffee all over another dress shirt. And my car wouldn't start this morning. I don't suppose you have another name for that, do you?"

"I'd call that every day life, son."

"Yeah, well, life seems to have gotten a hell of a lot more accidental since I ran into you the other day. Things like that don't usually happen to me on an everyday basis."

"Maybe they should."

"What do you mean?"

"I caught you looking at the Lincoln Memorial just a few minutes ago. I was watching from over there." She pointed to one of the park benches behind them, seated under trees that were just starting to show signs that spring might be on the way, despite the brisk temperature.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"To put it another way, you stopped to smell the roses."

Josh paused, looked over his shoulder towards the Lincoln Memorial for no real discernable reason other than to find some point of focus. With his luck, Donna would be standing right behind him to take note of the occasion, when a woman of undetermined mental capacity had him speechless.

"Please tell me you were not looking for roses just now," she said when he returned his attention to her.

"Ah, no. I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop."

"Tell me, why did you stop in front of the Memorial this morning?"

Josh shrugged his shoulders. His back pack slipped, and he caught it with his hand. Dropping it to the ground between his feet, he shoved his hands in his pocket, feeling very much like a school boy caught staring out the windows prior to the start of recess.

"I don't know. I just wanted to this morning."

"Do you do that often? Just decide to stop for a second?"

"Not often enough."

"Well, you should start to do that more often."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Shoot."

"Why are you here? I don't think it's to dole out advice to people like me."

"If that's a polite way of asking if I'm a drunk, an addict, or mentally ill, then the answer is no to all of the above."

"Then--"

"Many many years ago, my husband was in the hospital. Inoperable tumor. Our insurance didn't cover nearly enough of the hospital costs, and when I asked for a leave of absence to take care of him at home, my boss told me not to other coming back. A few months after my husband died, I was evicted from my apartment. I found a church shelter that was more than happy to exchange a bed and some food for the help of another healthy individual."

For some reason, the confession made Josh feel relieved. "So, you're not living on the streets?"

"Oh, no. I help run a shelter over on Dupont."

"Then, what's with the..." He pointed to the cart she was tugging to her side.

"This? I'm bringing some of the coats left over from the church's clothing drive to another one of the shelters across town."

"You're walking?!?"

"How else do you expect me to get there?"

"Point taken." Josh looked around again, taking note of the number of destitute men and women in the area that he normally ignored when he walked to work. He'd make a note not to ignore them anymore. "Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No. But I really must be on my way. The sidewalks are going to get awfully tight with people in just a little bit, and I'd like to get there before that happens."

"Yeah, okay."

"I don't regret anything in my life," she told him as she pulled her cart away down the sidewalk.

Josh waited until he could no longer pick her out in the crowd before continuing his morning trek to the White House. Once he got there, Donna met him at the entrance with a handful of pink 'while you were gone' notes and a stern expression.

"Where the hell have you been?"

"Why, thank you, Donna, my morning has been swell so far. How has yours been?"

"Sam is waiting for you in the Roosevelt Room." Donna handed him his messages in exchange for his backpack. As they walked, she stripped him of his coat as well. "You were supposed to be here 20 minutes ago."

"My car wouldn't start. I had to walk here."

"And you couldn't call me to inform me of this?"

"Who are you, my mother?"

"Yes, she appointed me guardianship in absentia."

"I don't think there is such a thing as guardianship in absentia."

"Shut up. I was worried."

"Really?"

"What, I'm not allowed to worry about you?"

"You worry about me, but you won't bring me coffee?"

"Get over it. I wasn't that worried." She handed him a folder with post-it notes attached to it. "Here are your notes for the energy bill thing. Don't piss these people off."

"Yes, Mom."

"Really, Josh, I know how you can get."

"Really, Donna, I'm not going to screw this up. They were here a year ago asking for the White House endorsement and you told them to buy a Duracel battery and a flashlight if they were worried about the lights going out in their home state."

"I did?"

"You did."

"And we just asked the same guys back?"

"Yes, you did."

"Do you think they remember that?"

"Judging from the look on Sam's face right now--" She pointed to the Deputy Communication's Director, seated in the Roosevelt Room. Sam was smiling at the people in the room with him, but his eyes were calling for Josh's head on a platter.

"I guess I had better get in there." Before he opened the door to the Roosevelt Room, he turned and called to her. "Can you look into something for me? I want some more info on survivor benefits and health care coverage for terminal patients above and beyond what HMO's will cover."

"Yeah, sure. I thought you closed that part of the Family Wellness package."

"I want to reopen it."

"Gotcha."

Leo quietly stepped through the portal connecting his office to the Oval Office. The recording team was in there, finishing the taping of the Saturday morning address. There was a small audience surrounding the couches, but that wasn't what interested him. Toby was standing in the corner, listening and watching with keen interest. Leo leaned against the side of the door and listened as well.

"-- It's that time of year when high school seniors are deciding on where they want to go to college, when college seniors are debating continuing their education in graduate school or electing to start a career instead. Heady prospects in light of all the other decisions that are made on a day to day basis. Remember those times, for those of you that have already accepted the mantle. Cherish these times, for those of you about to jump into the fray.

"It is time to take up the sword. It is time to choose your mantle. Be it politics or education, industry or science, family or career, or any combination in between. We are the sum total of the decisions we make. Become involved. Take an active interest in what could happen. Make an argument. State your case. Otherwise, you're only sitting on the sidelines while the rest of the world goes by.

"Thank you."

The recording technician held up his hand for a moment, then dropped it. "That's a take, Mr. President."

"Excellent."

The small audience erupted in gentle applause as the President stood. He shook hands with the recorder, then joined the small group near the couches. Trading barbs and remarks with several of them, he shook their hands as well as one of the many unnamed staffers led the group out of the Oval Office and to a small reception in the Mural Room.

The President caught Toby's eye and nodded. Toby responded in kind, then slinked out of the room. Leo waited until everyone had left the office.

He had been hesitant for Toby to talk with the President about changing the address. Though Leo understood the need to jump on the re-election bandwagon, he knew something else was going on, particularly between his long time friend and that friend's wife. He didn't want to voice any concerns, not just yet. Not until he had a root cause for his fear.

"You're leaving for Camp David."

Bartlet gathered the pages of his address and stuffed them back into the folder Toby had handed him earlier. "As soon as I'm done here."

"Going to have a talk with Abbey?" Leo asked, hedging his bet.

Though the words were light, Leo knew the look on his friend's face. It wasn't good. Abbey had not been in residence for more than a few days at a time since the State of the Union. It didn't take a genius to know that something was not well in the state of marital Denmark.

"Well, she is my wife. I should hope I'm going to talk to her this weekend."

"You know what I'm talking about."

Bartlet seemed to deflate just a bit. "Yeah, I know."

"Things okay between you two?"

"Fine, Leo. Nothing to worry about."

"You'd tell me if there was something wrong, right?"

"You'll be the first to know. Josh and Sam are meeting with who, Hoyt and Santana?"

"Yeah."

"I looked through the memo you left me about this. Think it will work?"

"Sure. We open up some federal grants for some industry as well as education R&D, and in the meantime, find a way to tap an energy reserve that should keep us going for centuries to come. According to Josh, these hydrates are found along the coast lines of just about every continent on the planet; countries that depend totally on the import of foreign oil may not be able to climb out of their energy dependence."

"Okay. I'll see you on Monday."

"Yeah."

Bartlet grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door. "Mrs. Landingham, I'm headed for the Residence."

"Yes, sir."

Leo followed him out of the office. "Have a good weekend, sir," he called.

Bartlet waved a hand as he rushed out of the office.

Leo stopped next to Mrs. Landingham's desk. She opened the ever present cookie jar on her desk for him, he waved off the offer. "He seems to be running off in a hurry," she said, returning to her work.

Watching his friend's retreating form, Leo couldn't help but wonder from what.

"Yeah."

END


End file.
